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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


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ESSAYS    FOR   COLLEGE 
ENGLISH 


SELECTED  AND   EDITED 

BY 

JAMES   CLOYD   BOWMAN,   A.M. 

LOUIS    I.   BREDVOLD,   A.M. 

LEROY   BETHUEL    GREENFIELD,    Ph.M. 

BRUCE   WEIRICK,   A.M. 

OF  THE  DEPARTMENT  OF  ENGLISH  OF  THE 
IOWA  STATE  COLLEGE 


D.    C.   HEATH    &   CO.,    PUBLISHERS 

BOSTON  NEW  YORK  CHICAGO 


Copyright,  191 5, 
By  D.  C.  Heath  &  Co. 

I  l6 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

This  opportunity  is  taken  to  return  special  thanks  to  those 
who   have  so  generously  granted  permission  to  reprint  copy- 
■    righted  essays,  —  to  the  Independent  for  "  The  New  Farming 
Generation"  by  Charles  M.  Harger;    to  The  Nation  for  the 
editorial,  "Country  Life  Problems;"    to  The  Annals  of  the 
American  Academy  and  to  the  author,  John  M.  Gillette,  for 
"  Conditions  and  Needs  of  Country  Life;"   to  Harper's  Maga- 
^     zine  for  "The  Rural  Reformation  "  by  Robert  W.  Bruere;  to 
^     Ginn  and  Company  for  "  Problems  of  Rural  Social  Life  "  by 
;^  >»  Thomas  Nixon  Carver;  to  the  Macmillan  Company  for  "  The 
Way  to  Better  Farming  and  Better  Living"  by  Sir  Horace 
Plunkett,    for  "  The  Realm  of  the  Commonplace  "  by  L.  H. 
Bailey,  and  for  "  The  Fatalism  of  the  Multitude  "  by  James 
\\    Bryce;  to  The  Atlantic  Monthly  and  to  the  author,  Myron  T. 
\   Herrick,  for  "The  Farmer  and  Finance;"  to  G.  P.  Putnam's 
Sons  and  to  the  author,  Paul  Elmer  More,  for  "A  Hermit's 
Notes  on  Thoreau; "  to  The  Atlantic  Monthly  and  to  the  author, 
Henry  S.  Pritchett,  for  "Science;"  to  Houghton  Mifflin  Com- 
4  pany  for  "  Huxley  "  by  Paul  Elmer  More;  to  D.  C.  Heath  and 
<;:v  Company  and  to  the  author,  Eugene  Davenport,  for  "  Educa- 
tion for  Efl&ciency ; "  to  Science  and  to  the  author,  W.  H.  Jordan, 
for  "  The  Function  and  Efficiency  of  the  Agricultural  College; " 
to  The  University  of  Chicago  Press  and  to  the  author,  F.  J. 
Turner,  for  "The  Significance   of   the  Frontier  in  American 
History." 


174967 


PREFACE 

Books  of  selected  essays,  introducing  the  student  to  the 
more  fundamental  and  far-reaching  movements  of  thought  of 
our  times,  are  being  more  and  more  widely  used  in  Freshman 
work  in  English.  They  have  been,  without  exception,  of  a 
general  nature  and  not  specifically  adapted  to  students  in 
technical  courses.  This  volume  is  an  attempt  to  supply  a 
collection  especially  suited  to  students  in  Agricultural  Colleges. 
There  is  no  reason,  however,  why  students  of  other  colleges 
should  not  find  these  essays  equally  fitted  to  their  needs. 

The  editors  have  been  confronted  with  an  unusual  oppor- 
tunity. The  Agricultural  College  is  forced  by  circumstances 
to  regard  itself  —  even  more  than  other  colleges  —  as  an  edu- 
cational institution  for  developing  leaders.  Its  graduates  who 
return  to  practical  farming  achieve  at  once,  if  they  are  equal 
to  it,  a  position  of  prominence  and  influence  in  the  whole  life 
of  their  respective  communities.  It  is  of  the  greatest  impor- 
tance, therefore,  that  these  students  acquire  a  definite  professional 
outlook  characterized  by  perspective  and  breadth.  The  editors 
of  this  volume  have  tried  to  collect  such  essays  as  would,  all 
together,  provide  these  students  with  the  great  ideas  and  ideals 
necessary  for  a  worthy  interpretation  of  their  profession.  As 
leaders  in  country  life,  the  graduates  of  our  Agricultural 
Colleges  —  in  common  with  the  graduates  of  other  colleges  — 
should  have  the  power  of  applying  ideas  to  their  life  so  as  to 
reveal  its  excellencies,  its  present  shortcomings,  and  its  latent 
possibilities.     To  help  supply  these  ideas  is  a  privilege. 

The  essays  have  been  grouped  so  as  to  indicate  the  large 
problems  which  the  agriculturist  as  a  professional  man  —  in 


vi  PREFACE 

common  with  other  men  —  must  necessarily  confront  and  study. 
A  group  of  essays  championing  the  various  activities  of  the 
Country  Life  Movement  is  placed  first,  because  they  are 
designed  to  lead  the  student  to  consider  what  values  ought 
to  be  achieved  in  individual  and  social  life  in  the  country. 
Inasmuch  as  Agriculture  is  based  on  science,  the  next  group 
of  essays  discuss  the  place  of  science  in  human  life.  A  third 
group,  presenting  each  of  the  various  movements  of  education, 
should  help  the  student  to  formulate  his  collegiate  ideals  and 
to  broaden  his  intellectual  perspective.  Finally,  it  is  desirable 
that  the  student  should  consider  with  care  some  of  the  more 
general  problems  of  American  life. 

Essays  from  opposite  points  of  view  have  frequently  been 
included  in  order  to  arouse  students  to  thought  and  discussion. 
While  both  range  of  treatment  and  the  variety  of  subject 
matter  may  develop  the  critical  faculties  of  the  student,  much 
argumentation  is  probably  of  doubtful  value.  A  careful  study 
of  the  other  side  is  more  wholesome  and  more  likely  to  lead  to 
a  true  perspective.  Nevertheless,  at  the  end  of  the  discussion, 
each  student  should  have  acquired  new  ideas,  which  he  feels 
sure  are  true  and  significant.  The  study  of  such  essays  as  this 
volume  contains  should,  therefore,  stimulate  students  of  Agri- 
culture, or  students  of  other  subjects,  to  a  high  intellectual 
attitude  toward  their  profession  as  well  as  toward  the  common 
problems  of  life. 


A   SUMMARY   OF  THE   SUBJECTS 
DISCUSSED   IN   THE   ESSAYS 

Problems  of  Country  Life 

The  contribution  of  mechanical  conveniences  to  farm 
Hfe,  conditions  and  needs  of  country  Hfe,  the  problems  of 
the  social  center,  the  country  church,  the  country  school, 
the  country  home,  farm  credits,  the  relation  of  the  out-of- 
doors  to  country  life. 

Science 

The  demand  for  scientific  knowledge  in  order  that  man 
may  conquer  his  environment,  a  review  of  the  last  fifty 
years  in  science,  what  remains  for  science  to  do,  the  limi- 
tations of  science. 

Education 

The  education  in  the  applied  science  of  Agriculture, 
corrective  problems  in  this  education  in  applied  science, 
the  education  in  pure  science,  the  education  in  humane 
letters. 

Problems  of  Life  in  General 

Influence  that  the  open  country  has  had  in  developing 
American  characteristics,  the  influence  of  democracy  upon 
the  individual,  the  influence  of  taste  upon  the  various 
problems  of  life,  the  influence  of  character  upon  the  work 
that  a  man  does. 


CONTENTS 

Introduction 3d 

I.    The  New  Farming  Genera- 
tion    Charles  M.  Harger     .       i 

n.     Country  Life  Problems  .    .     The  Nation    ....       4 

III.  Conditions    and    Needs    of 

Country  Life John  M.  Gillette     .    .       7 

IV.  The  Social  Center  ....     Woodrow  Wilson    .    .     18 
V.    The  Rural  Reformation    .     Robert  W.  Bruere  .    .     30 

VI.    Problems   of  Rural  Social 

Life Thomas  Nixon  Carver    47 

VII.    The  Way  to  Better  Farm- 
ing and  Better  Living     .     Sir  Horace  Plunketl  .     97 
VIII.     The  Farmer  and  Finance  .     Myron  T.  Herrick  .    .    109 
IX.    The    Realm    of    the    Com- 
monplace   L.  H.  Bailey  .    .    .    .124 

X.    A    Hermit's    Notes    on 

Thoreau Paul  Elmer  More  .    .152 

XI.  On  the  Advisableness  of  Im- 
proving Natural  Knowl- 
edge    Thomas  Henry  Huxley  168 

XII.     Science  (1857-1907)  ....     Henry  S.  Pritchett .    .   185 

XIII.  Conservation    of    Natural 

Resources Theodore  Roosevelt.    .   209 

XIV.  Huxley Paul  Elmer  More  .    .221 

XV.    Education  for  Efficiency  .     Eugene  Davenport  .    .257 

XVI.  The  Function  and  Effi- 
ciency of  the  Agricultu- 
ral College Whitman  H.  Jordan  .   280 

XVII.     A    Liberal    Education   and 

Where  to  Find  It     .    .    .     Thomas  Henry  Huxley  302 


X  CONTENTS 

XVIII.    Literature  and  Science  .    .     Matthew  Arnold     .   .  326 
XIX.    The    Significance    of    the 
Frontier      in      American 

History Frederick  J.  Turner  .  349 

XX.     The  Fatalism  of  the  Mul- 
titude     James  Bryce  ....   390 

XXI.    Traffic John  Riiskin  ....  402 

XXII.    The  American  Scholar    .    .     Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  426 


INTRODUCTION 

The  Analysis  of  Essays 

To  master  the  thoughts  of  others  is  the  one  business  of  the 
college  student.  From  the  moment  he  enters  his  first  class- 
room with  his  text-book,  until  he  goes  out  from  his  last  lecture 
with  his  completed  notes,  he  is  continually  trying  to  assimilate 
the  ideas  of  teachers  and  of  writers.  The  ability  to  master 
these  thoughts  easily  and  quickly  makes  him  a  leader  —  its 
lack,  a  dullard. 

The  difficulty  with  most  inexperienced  students  is  that  they 
read  only  sentences,  and  are  unable  to  grasp  the  thought  of 
an  entire  piece  of  writing.  Their  eyes  race  along  the  lines 
and  they  read  statement  after  statement  until,  at  the  end 
of  fifteen  or  twenty  pages,  their  minds  are  so  depressed  with  a 
vast  number  of  unrelated  ideas  that,  when  asked  to  explain 
the  meaning  of  the  essay  or  of  the  chapter,  they  become  con- 
fused and  finally  give  up  in  despair. 

The  remedy  for  this  sort  of  confusion  is  the  careful  analysis 
of  long  essays.  This  may  prove  a  bit  tedious  at  first,  but  soon 
the  student  will  realize  that  every  careful  author  proceeds 
according  to  some  definite  plan.  He  will  then  try  to  grasp 
this  plan  and  the  point  that  the  author  is  attempting  to  enforce 
by  its  use.  Gradually  he  will  begin  to  read  for  ideas,  and 
will  come  to  assimilate  thoughts. 

Analysis,  then,  is  not  merely  an  exercise  in  English  —  it  is 
a  training  in  careful  thinking.  Whether  the  student  is  asked 
to  study  an  article  in  a  magazine  or  a  chapter  in  a  book,  he 
will  be  able  to  do  it  the  better,  the  easier,  and  the  quicker  for 
having  analyzed  a  number  of  representative  essays.  Analysis 
is  also  of  the  greatest  aid  to  the  student  in  writing  long  themes. 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

Not  until  he  fully  understands,  through  analysis,  the  care 
with  which  trained  writers  order  their  thought,  is  he  ready 
to  undertake  the  writing  of  long  themes  for  himself.  Not 
until  he  has  mastered  their  methods  will  he  find  that  he  is 
able  to  express  his  own  thoughts  clearly  and  compactly. 

In  analyzing  an  essay,  the  most  important  problem  is  to 
grasp  the  one  particular  point  which  the  author  wishes  to 
impress.  If  the  reader  understands  this,  he  is  at  the  very 
heart  of  the  mystery,  but  if  he  misses  it  —  regardless  of  how 
many  other  minor  ideas  he  may  grasp  —  he  is  merely  groping 
about  in  uncertainty.  The  first  question,  then,  to  ask  is, 
"What  point  is  the  author  trying  to  make?" 

In  order  to  find  it,  the  reader  should  know  that  the  careful 
author  hints  at  this  point  in  his  title.  In  the  first  few  para- 
graphs he  attempts  to  interest  the  reader  in  the  point  and  to 
prepare  him  to  take  a  sympathetic  attitude  toward  it.  As 
soon  as  he  has  done  this,  —  and  he  seldom  uses  more  than  half 
a  dozen  paragraphs  even  in  an  essay  of  twenty  or  thirty  pages, 
—  he  states  the  point  as  clearly  and  concisely  as  possible. 
In  order  that  the  reader  may  more  easily  find  it,  he  places 
this  statement  at  the  beginning  of  a  paragraph  or  in  a  short 
paragraph  by  itself.  Having  presented  the  point,  he  is  in 
duty  bound  to  impress  its  truth  upon  the  reader.  Where  it 
is  possible,  he  presents  in  chronological  order  the  facts  which 
will  do  this;  otherwise,  he  leads  the  reader  from  what  is 
generally  known  to  be  true  about  the  point,  to  what  is  not 
generally  known.  He  is  sure  to  arrange  these  facts  in  some 
logical  order,  so  that  when  the  reader  recognizes  what  the 
order  is,  he  can  more  easily  hold  the  entire  essay  in  mind. 
The  author  guides  the  reader,  in  passing  from  the  discussion 
of  one  of  these  facts  to  the  next,  by  the  use  of  transitional 
sentences  and  brief  summaries.  Near  the  end  of  the  essay 
he  restates  his  point  and  quickly  reiterates  the  main  facts 
which  he  has  used  to  impress  its  truth.  In  concluding  the  essay, 
he  gives  his  final  judgment  regarding  the  point. 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

Once  the  reader  has  found  the  point  of  the  essay  and  has 
discovered  the  main  ideas  by  which  its  truth  is  impressed, 
he  is  ready  to  ask  a  second  important  question,  "Does  the 
author  really  make  his  point?"  Many  students  take  it  for 
granted  that,  once  a  thing  gets  itself  into  print,  it  is  neces- 
sarily true.  Such  an  attitude  bewilders  the  mind  with  a 
mass  of  undigested  and  conflicting  statements.  If  the  reader 
is  ever  to  master  knowledge,  he  must  pause  and  question  each 
new  thought  that  is  presented  to  him. 

How  is  the  reader  to  answer  intelligently  whether  or  not 
the  writer  has  made  his  point?  He  may  reach  his  conclusion 
through  a  series  of  tests.  The  first  is  to  ascertain  whether  the 
author  sticks  to  his  point  throughout  his  entire  essay.  Some- 
times a  careless  writer  aims  at  nothing  in  particular,  and  in  this 
case,  is  sure  to  shoot  wide  of  the  mark.  But  if  he  finds  that  the 
author  has  the  point  in  mind  in  his  title  and  has  arranged  every 
idea  —  from  the  first  paragraph  to  the  last  —  so  that  it  con- 
tributes to  the  point  that  he  is  trying  to  make,  the  reader  may 
feel  satisfied  with  the  first  test.  He  should  then  make  a 
second  test.  After  summarizing  the  main  ideas  which  the 
author  has  used  to  impress  his  point,  the  reader  should  examine 
these  separately  to  see  that  the  author  has  shown  each  to  be 
true.  If  he  finds  any  idea  the  truth  of  which  has  not  been 
estabhshed,  he  should  discard  it;  he  should  then  take  the 
remaining  facts  and  ask,  if  these  are  granted  true,  whether 
it  necessarily  follows  that  the  main  point  is  true.  If  he  can 
answer  these  questions  in  the  affirmative,  he  may  be  fairly 
certain  that  the  author  has  not  failed  to  make  his  point. 

Then  there  is  a  third  question  that  the  student  should  ask 
concerning  every  essay  that  he  reads,  "Has  the  author  made 
his  point  in  the  most  effective  manner?"  Much  slovenly 
thinking  and  writing  grow  out  of  the  attitude  that  it  matters 
not  in  what  manner  the  author  proceeds,  so  long  as  he  makes 
his  point.  Just  as  efficiency  demands  that  a  man  examine 
every  detail  of  his  business  to  see  which  contribute  to  his 


xiv  INTRODUCTION 

profits  and  which  do  not,  so  the  careful  student  must  test  each 
idea  to  see  whether  it  helps  the  author  to  impress  the  point 
of  his  essay. 

To  answer  whether  the  writer  has  made  his  point  in  the 
most  effective  manner,  the  reader  should  inquire  whether 
the  main  ideas  could  be  arranged  in  a  different  order  so  as  to 
be  more  logical  or  more  forceful.  He  should  also  ask  whether 
the  most  important  ideas  have  been  given  the  most  emphatic 
places  in  the  essay  —  the  beginning  and  the  end.  He  should 
further  question  whether  each  idea  has  been  given  space  pro- 
portional to  its  importance.  If  an  important  idea  is  hidden 
away  in  an  essay  like  a  "joker"  in  a  law,  and  if  an  unimpor- 
tant idea  is  given  ten  paragraphs  while  an  important  idea 
receives  but  three,  then  the  reader  may  rightfully  doubt 
whether  the  author  has  been  as  effective  as  he  should  be. 
Finally,  the  reader  should  examine  whether  the  author  has 
expressed  himself  clearly  and  compactly,  with  skill  and  ease; 
whether  he  has  used  the  right  word  in  the  right  place;  whether 
his  phrases  are  felicitous;  and  whether  he  has  so  ordered  his 
thought  as  to  keep  the  reader  mentally  alert  and  interested. 
If  a  writer  is  to  be  really  effective,  he  must  be  able  to  satisfy 
all  these  tests. 

In  analyzing  essays,  the  student  will  find  that  the  Thought 
Analysis,  the  Summary,  and  the  Criticism  are  guides  to  careful 
work.  In  order  to  secure  uniform  results,  the  student  should 
use  the  following  definite  rules:  — 

The  Thought  Analysis 

I.  Summarize  the  point  of  the  entire  essay  in  a  single 
complex  sentence. 

The  principal  clause  should  contain  the  leading  thought; 
the  subordinate  elements,  the  limiting  thoughts.  Matthew 
Arnold's  essay,  "Literature  and  Science,"^  may  be  sum- 
marized as  follows :  — 

1  See  pages  326-348  of  this  book. 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

In  spite  of  the  present  movement  in  favor  of  science,  humane  letters 
are  not  in  much  danger  of  being  thrust  out  from  their  leading  place  in 
education,  since  they  are  related  to  the  instinct  for  self-preservation  in 
mankind  in  a  way  that  science  is  not. 

2.  Summarize  —  using  a  single  sentence  for  each  —  the 
main  ideas  which  the  author  uses  to  enforce  his  point.  Unless 
the  student  proceeds  carefully,  he  will  confuse  these  main  ideas 
with  subordinate  material.  An  author  does  not  employ, 
usually,  more  than  five  main  ideas;  often  he  limits  himself 
to  two  or  three.  The  main  ideas  of  Matthew  Arnold's  essay, 
"Literature  and  Science,"  may  be  summarized  as  follows:  — 

I.  Humane  letters  will,  in  the  long  run,  keep  their  leading  place  in  educa- 

tion, since  they  satisfy  the  aim  of  culture  —  which  is  to  know  the 
best  that  has  been  thought  and  said  in  the  world. 

II.  Science  cannot  long  maintain  the  chief  place  in  the  education  of  the 

majority  of  mankind,  since  it  leaves  one  important  thing  out  of 
account  —  the  constitution  of  human  nature. 

III.  Himiane  letters  will  not  long  remain  neglected  because  they  satisfy 

the  need  which  the  vast  majority  of  men  feel  for  relating  what  they 
have  learned  and  known  to  the  sense  which  they  have  in  them  of 
beauty  and  of  conduct. 

IV.  Greek  letters  will  continue  to  be  studied  since  they  satisfy  the  sense 

of  beauty  better  than  do  any  other  letters. 

3.  Summarize  —  using  a  single  sentence  for  each  —  the 
subordinate  thoughts  which  the  author  uses  to  enforce  each 
of  his  main  ideas.  Main  idea  II  of  Matthew  Arnold's  essay, 
"Literature  and  Science,"  may  be  summarized  as  follows:  — 

A.  The  powers  which  go  to  the  building  up  of  human  life  are  conduct,  intel- 

lect and  knowledge,  beauty,  and  social  life  and  manners. 

B.  Science  is  in  the  sphere  of  intellect  and  knowledge  and  does  not  relate 

itself  to  the  other  powers  which  go  to  the  building  up  of  human  life. 

4.  Condense,  whenever  it  is  consistent  with  clearness,  the 
author's  statement  of  each  idea. 

5.  Match  the  statement  of  coordinate  ideas  by  parallel 
construction. 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

6.  Relate  the  principal  ideas  to  the  subordinate  by  the  use 
of  connectives.  The  most  common  of  these  are,  "in  that," 
"that  is,"  "for,"  "because,"  "the  following."  The  ten- 
dency to  use  "therefore,"  "accordingly,"  and  "hence"  will 
be  found,  upon  careful  analysis,  to  be  due  to  the  confusion  of 
principal  with  subordinate  ideas. 

7.  Use  the  following  system  of  symbols  to  distinguish 
between  coordinate  and  subordinate  ideas:  — 

I. 

A. 
I. 
a. 


8.  Remember  that  every  statement  in  the  Thought  Analysis 
must  be  in  the  form  of  a  complete  sentence. 

Complete  Thought  Analysis  of  Matthew  Arnold's  "Literature 
AND  Science" 

The  Point  of  the  Essay 

In  spite  of  the  present  movement  in  favor  of  science,  humane  letters 
are  not  in  much  danger  of  being  thrust  out  from  their  leading  place  in 
education,  since  they  are  related  to  the  instinct  for  self-preservation  in 
mankind  in  a  way  that  science  is  not. 

The  Thought  A  nalysis  Proper 

I.  Humane  letters  will,  in  the  long  run,  keep  their  leading  place  in  educa- 
tion since  they  satisfy  the  aim  of  culture,  which  is  to  know  the  best 
that  has  been  thought  and  said  in  the  world,  for, 

A.  Professor  Huxley's  objection  to  this  study  because  it  is  an 
elegant  one,  —  but  slight  and  ineffectual,  —  because  it  is  a 
superficial  humanism,  —  the  opposite  of  science  or  true  knowl- 
edge, —  is  without  weight  because  he  confuses  humane  letters 
with  belles  lettres. 

B.  Knowing  Greek  and  Roman  antiquity  helps  us  to  know  our- 
selves and  the  world  in  that  it  helps  us  to  know  who  these 
ancient  peoples  were  and  what  they  did  in  the  world;  vhat  we 
get  from  them,  and  what  is  the  value  of  their  bequest. 


INTRODUCTION  xvii 

II.  Science  cannot  long  maintain  the  chief  place  in  the  education  of  the 
majority  of  mankind,  since  it  leaves  out  of  account  the  constitution  of 
human  nature;   that  is, 

A.  The  powers  which  go  to  the  building  up  of  human  life  are 
conduct,  intellect  and  knowledge,  beauty,  and  social  life  and 
manners. 

B.  Science  is  in  the  sphere  of  intellect  and  knowledge,  and  does 
not  relate  itself  to  the  other  powers  which  go  to  the  building 
up  of  human  life. 

III.  Humane  letters  cannot  long  remain  neglected,  because  they  satisfy 
the  need  which  the  vast  majority  of  mankind  feels  for  relating  what 
they  have  learned  and  known  to  the  sense  which  they  have  in  them  of 
beauty  and  of  conduct,  because, 

A.  Medieval  education  so  deeply  engaged  men's  hearts  because 
it  so  simply,  easily,  and  powerfully  related  itself  to  their  desire 
for  conduct  and  beauty  through  the  logic  of  scripture  and  church. 

B.  Since  modern  science  has  changed  man's  view  of  the  universe, 
there  is  a  greater  need  than  ever  for  humane  letters  to  establish 
a  relation  between  the  new  conceptions  and  our  instinct  for 
beauty  and  for  conduct. 

C.  We  shall  find  as  a  matter  of  experience,  if  we  know  the  best 
that  has  been  thought  and  uttered  in  the  world,  that  humane 
letters  have  a  fortifying,  elevating,  quickening,  and  suggestive 
power. 

D.  Humane  letters  call  out  a  man's  being  at  more  points  and 
make  him  live  more  fully  than  do  the  natural  sciences,  for  the 
former  are  always  coupled  with  a  knowledge  of  the  great  general 
conceptions  of  modern  physical  science,  while  a  study  of  the 
natural  sciences  brings  no  knowledge  of  humane  letters. 

IV.  Greek  letters  will  always  corttinue  to  be  studied,  since  they  satisfy 
the  sense  of  beauty  better  than  do  the  letters  of  any  other  nation,  for, 

A.  While  EngHsh  letters  have  striking  ideas  and  weU-executed 
details,  they  have  not  the  high  symmetry  combined  with  the 
satisfying  and  delightful  effect  wliich  characterizes  Greek 
letters. 

B.  So  long  as  human  nature  remains  what  it  is,  the  instinct  for 
self-preservation  in  humanity  will  bring  men  back  to  Greek  by 
their  wants  and  aspirations. 


xviu  INTRODUCTION 

The  Summary 

1.  Condense  the  entire  essay  into  a  single  paragraph. 
Make  the  point  of  the  essay  the  topic  sentence. 

2.  Take  up  the  main  ideas  in  the  same  order  in  which  the 
author  uses  them. 

3.  Give  each  main  idea  space  proportional  to  the  author's 
treatment  of  it. 

4.  The  summary  should  contain  the  author's  thought  and 
not  the  student's  reaction  toward  the  thought. 

5.  The  sentences  should  be  fitted  together  so  that  they 
read  smoothly. 

SXJMMARY  OF  MaTTHEW  ArNOLD'S   "LITERATURE  AND   SCIENCE  " 

In  spite  of  the  present  movement  in  favor  of  science,  humane  letters 
are  not  in  much  danger  of  being  thrust  out  from  their  leading  place  in 
education.  This  is  true  because  they  satisfy  the  aim  of  culture,  which  is 
to  know  the  best  that  has  been  thought  and  said  in  the  world,  in  a  way  that 
science  does  not.  They  relate  themselves  to  the  powers  which  go  to  the 
building  up  of  himian  life  —  to  conduct,  to  intellect  and  knowledge,  to 
beauty,  and  to  social  life  and  manners  — •  in  a  way  that  science  does  not. 
It  has  been  through  this  ability  to  relate  itself  to  these  various  powers  that 
education  in  the  past  has  been  able  to  engage  men's  hearts  so  deeply.  Now 
that  science  has  overturned  all  the  past  conceptions  of  the  universe,  there 
is  a  greater  need  than  ever  before  for  humane  letters  to  establish  a  relation 
between  the  new  conceptions  and  these  instincts.  We  shall  find,  if  we 
give  them  a  chance,  that  humane  letters  will  have  a  fortifying,  an  elevating, 
and  a  quickening  power  upon  us.  We  shall  find,  too,  that  they  will  call 
out  our  lives  at  more  points  and  niake  us  live  more  than  science  is  able  to 
do.  We  shall  therefore  find,  so  long  as  human  nature  remains  what  it  is, 
that  the  instinct  for  self-preservation,  the  wants  and  aspirations  in  hu- 
manity wiU  keep  men  from  substituting  the  natural  sciences  for  Greek 
and  the  humane  letters  of  other  nations. 

The  Criticism 

I.  The  criticism  should  answer  the  following  questions: 
I.   Has  the  author  made  his  point? 


INTRODUCTION  xk 

A.  Has  he  made  every  idea  in  the  essay  contribute 
to  the  point? 

B.  Has  he  made  a  sufi&cient  number  of  ideas 
contribute  to  the  point  to  make  it  necessarily 
true? 

11.    Has  the  author  made  his  point  in  the  most  effective 
manner? 

A.  Has  he  presented  his  ideas  in  such  an  order  that 
the  most  important  ones  are  given  the  most 
important  places? 

B.  Has  he  given  each  idea  space  proportional  to 
its  importance? 

C.  Has  he  expressed  himself  clearly,  compactly, 
and  felicitously? 

2.  The  criticism  should  be  so  written  that  it  makes  its 
point  and  makes  it  in  the  most  effective  manner. 

3.  The  criticism  should  contain  the  student's  point  of  view 
toward  the  essay.  It  should  be  based,  not  upon  narrow 
prejudice,  but  upon  careful  analysis  of  the  thought. 

4.  Frequently  the  students  should  write  criticisms  of  one 
another's  long  themes. 

James  Cloyd  Bowman 


ESSAYS    FOR    COLLEGE 
ENGLISH 

THE   NEW   FARMING   GENERATION  ^ 

Charles  M.  Harger 

An  encouraging  note  for  the  future  of  the  farming  sections 
comes  out  of  the  Middle  West  where  there  has  been  reached 
a  stage  of  development  that  includes  something  more  than 
the  counting  of  bushels  and  acres.  It  is  the  report  that  a 
larger  number  of  young  men  each  year  are  choosing  farming 
for  their  life  occupation.  The  agricultural  colleges  are  expand- 
ing their  facilities  to  accommodate  increased  attendance  and 
the  demand  for  "institutes"  which  shall  instruct  the  agri- 
cultural communities  is  insistent.  This  means  that  the  posi- 
tion of  the  farmer  as  a  business  man  is  being  established,  and 
his  sons,  instead  of  hurrying  to  the  city  to  seek  another  occu- 
pation, are  realizing  that  there  is  a  field  for  their  best  endeavor 
on  the  old  homestead  —  though  that  term  has  almost  passed 
into  the  realm  of  melodrama. 

The  new  generation  of  farmers  is  something  of  a  surprise 
to  the  student  familiar  with  that  of  early  days.  It  comes  with 
something  of  an  awakening  to  hear  the  man  in  overalls,  milk 
pail  or  pitchfork  in  hand,  talk  in  clear  English  of  "balanced 
nutrition,"  "economy  of  production,"  and  "scientific  breed- 
ing." He  discusses  the  quality  of  soil  ingredients  and  moral- 
izes on  the  benefits  of  crop  rotation.  He  has  learned  farming 
from  books,  which  was  a  method  that  our  fathers  scorned, 

^  Copyright.  Reprinted  by  permission  from  The  Independent  for  Feb- 
ruary 3,  1910. 


2  CHARLES  M.   HARGER 

but  the  fact  that  he  is  able  to  produce  more  bushels  to  the  acre 
and  more  profit  from  the  year's  work  is  earning  him  respect. 
He  stands  for  a  new  era  on  the  farm  and  in  its  management. 

Not  alone  in  the  better  management  of  the  fields  is  the  new 
generation  of  farmers  making  advancement.  That  is  but  a 
part  of  the  accomplishment  of  an  agricultural  education. 
The  fact  that  the  young  men  have  been  out  in  the  world  and 
have  learned  how  others  do  things  gives  them  ideas  in  accom- 
plishment of  farm  duties  with  less  exertion.  The  bane  of 
the  farmer's  life  has  been  that  he  was  compelled  to  rise  with 
the  sun  and  work  until  long  after  its  setting.  He  found  it 
difficult  to  obtain  farm  help  because  the  days  were  so  long 
and  the  relaxation  so  limited.  The  new  generation  is  changing 
this,  partly  through  the  more  systematic  management  of 
farm  work  and  more  by  the  introduction  of  new  methods. 

Milking  cows  is  at  best  a  wearisome  task,  and  the  farm  boy 
who  spent  two  or  three  hours  of  early  morning  and  of  late 
evening  at  that  task,  looks  back  upon  it  as  a  nightmare  in 
his  home  life.  Nowadays  the  educated  young  farmer  equips 
the  dairy  with  milking  machines  which  enables  him  to  milk 
faster  than  three  expert  men  could  do  it,  and  have  no  labor 
except  that  of  overseeing  the  process.  Following  the  plow 
day  after  day  wears  out  the  most  willing  youth.  Even  the 
sulky-plow  did  not  entirely  remove  the  burden,  for  the  tired 
horses  always  called  for  sympathy.  The  modern  farmer 
places  in  the  field  a  gasoline  engine  to  which  is  attached  a  half 
dozen  plows,  and  the  plowboy  becomes  a  field  chauffeur, 
getting  through  the  task  with  little  weariness  and  much  satis- 
faction. Water  pipes  through  the  barns  and  water  pressure 
through  the  house  means  comfort  to  the  farmer  and  his  family, 
motor  cars  diminish  distance  and  give  pleasure,  amply  paid 
for  by  the  increase  of  health  and  economy  of  time. 

These  and  many  other  things  that  relieve  the  farmer's 
life  from  dreariness  have  come  through  the  enterprise  and 
advancement  of  the  new  generation.     Where  the  boy  has  been 


THE  NEW  FARMING  GENERATION      3 

sent  to  college  and  then  allowed  to  carry  into  effect  the  lessons 
he  learned  there  is  little  for  commissions  and  economists  to 
do  —  the  farmer's  problem  is  taking  care  of  itself. 

Not  much  can  be  expected  of  the  older  generation.  The 
man  who  has  farmed  in  the  old  way  for  forty  years  is  going  to 
keep  on  in  his  accustomed  path.  In  no  profession  or  avoca- 
tion is  there  more  unyielding  adherence  to  habit  and  tradition 
than  on  the  farm.  If  this  be  doubted,  visit  a  rural  community 
in  one  of  the  older  States  and  note  the  processes  to  which  older 
farmers  yet  cling. 

In  contrast  inspect  a  farm  in  the  Middle  West  where  the 
spirit  of  progress  and  advancement  is  manifest.  The  modern 
machinery,  the  new  methods  and  the  larger  grasp  of  the  possi- 
bilities in  making  farming  a  business  speak  for  themselves. 
The  attitude  of  the  worker  toward  his  task  takes  on  a  new 
aspect,  he  considers  his  land  as  so  much  equipment,  the 
factory  against  which  are  placed  fixed  charges  and  from  which 
are  to  be  derived  legitimate  profits.  This  viewpoint  marks 
the  real  reason  for  the  modern  farmer's  success,  for  out  of  it 
is  evolved  the  planning  and  calculation  that  result  in  a  steady 
measure  of  prosperity,  the  source  of  a  farmer's  happiness. 

Given  a  conviction  that  he  can  obtain  from  the  soil  a  regular 
income  and  do  it  with  no  greater  exertion  than  is  required  to 
succeed  in  any  other  business,  the  attraction  of  the  farm  for 
the  young  man  will  be  ample  —  what  he  has  objected  to  has 
been  the  intense  labor  and  uncertainty  of  results. 

This  is  exactly  the  object  of  the  education  given  by  the 
agricultural  schools,  and  as  they  turn  out  their  hundreds  of 
educated  farmer  youth  there  should  be  a  change  in  the  farming 
community  commensurate  with  the  infusion  of  scientific 
methods  and  a  more  intelligent  comprehension  of  possibilities. 
This  must  come  from  the  young  generation,  and  the  father 
will  do  well  to  give  his  sons  opportunity  to  test  their  theories 
and  to  put  into  practice  their  new  ideas,  instead  of  insisting 
that  old  ways  be  followed  simply  because  they  are  old. 


COUNTRY   LIFE   PROBLEMS  ^ 

Ex-Secretary  Garfield,  in  an  address  at  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association  dinner  last  week,  dealt  with  the  failing 
attractions  of  country  life,  especially  life  on  the  farm.  As  a 
member  of  the  Country  Life  Commission,  he  referred  to  recent 
investigations  and  said  that  they  pointed  to  increasing  "stag- 
nation and  decline"  in  rural  regions,  upon  which  the  cities 
still  exercise  their  vast  power  of  action.  President  Taft 
touched  upon  the  same  subject  in  one  of  his  recent  speeches 
in  the  South.  Admitting  the  evils,  he  was,  characteristically, 
more  sanguine  than  Mr.  Garfield.  In  the  President's  opinion, 
country  life  is  in  the  way  of  being  made  so  fascinating  that  it 
may  soon  reassert  its  old  place  in  our  civilization,  and  check 
the  seemingly  irresistible  drift  to  the  city.  "The  suburban 
electric  railroads,"  said  Mr.  Taft,  "the  telephone,  the  rural 
postal  delivery,  inventions,  and  cooperative  arrangements 
are  reaching  such  a  point  that  it  will  soon  become,  I  trust, 
more  comfortable  to  live  in  the  country  than  in  the  city." 

There  is  truth  in  this  view,  but  there  is  also  fallacy.  Increas- 
ing conveniences  do,  indeed,  make  country  life  more  tolerable 
to  those  who  feel  themselves  condemned  to  it,  but  is  there 
any  evidence  that  these  new  and  extending  facilities  operate 
to  hold  on  the  farm  the  young  men  who  are  burning  to  get 
away  from  it?  The  telephone  in  the  remote  countryside  is 
unquestionably  a  great  blessing.  With  a  service  made  rela- 
tively cheap  by  the  use  of  party-lines,  it  brings  the  distant 
farmhouse  into  instant  touch  with  physician  and  shopkeeper 
and  postmaster.     It  also  makes  possible  a  daily  interchange 

*  Copyright.  Reprinted  by  permission.  An  editorial  from  The  Nation 
for  November  i8,  1909. 


COUNTRY    LIFE    PROBLEMS  5 

of  neighborhood  gossip  and  a  frequent  meeting  of  friends 
which  are,  in  many  sections,  giving  a  wholly  new  cast  to  the 
social  side  of  life  in  the  country.  All  this  must  be  recognized 
thankfully,  yet  the  doubt  remains  whether  such  civilizing 
inventions  do  or  can  keep  down  that  persistent  and  growing 
distaste  for  life  on  the  farm  of  which  ex-Secretary  Garfield 
spoke  so  regretfully.  Because  the  boy  in  a  New  Hampshire 
farmhouse  can  telephone  to  the  nearest  village,  is  he  the  less 
likely  to  slip  away  to  Boston  to  get  a  job  as  motorman?  We 
know  of  no  statistics  on  the  point,  yet  the  fact  that  farms 
continue  to  be  abandoned,  and  that  the  city  keeps  on  pulling 
to  itself  country-bred  youth,  would  seem  to  argue  that  neither 
telephone  nor  trolley  nor  the  daily  newspaper  left  in  the  mail- 
box by  the  roadside  will  suddenly  make  thousands  of  men 
and  women  fall  in  love  with  the  country  which  they  now 
hate. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  may  be  plausibly  argued  that  the  very 
introduction  in  the  country  of  a  modicum  of  urban  comforts 
and  conveniences  merely  whets  the  longing  for  the  city.  Sir 
Horace  Plunkett,  who  for  twenty  years  has  been  a  close  student 
of  agricultural  conditions  in  Ireland  and  in  the  United  States, 
is  distinctly  of  the  mind  that  the  thing  actually  works  in  that 
way.  The  trolley  car  passing  once  an  hour  simply  renders 
the  appeal  of  subway  and  elevated  and  the  two-minute  head- 
way all  the  stronger.  The  farm  telephone  is  very  good,  but 
how  if  it  puts  into  the  youth's  head  a  still  more  vivid  conception 
of  the  charm  of  a  great  city  knit  together  in  the  enjoyment 
of  every  modern  facility?  What  possible  chance  has  the 
newspaper  which  reaches  the  farm  in  the  evening,  or  a  day 
late,  of  competing  in  excitement  with  the  city  editions  appear- 
ing clamorously  all  day  long  and  far  into  the  night?  Sir 
Horace  Plunkett  soberly  concludes  that  the  trend  to  the  cities 
has  actually  been  heightened,  not  diminished,  by  giving  the 
country  a  fuller  taste  of  urban  pleasures  and  conveniences. 
Having  got  a  small  part,  the  country  folk  desire  the  whole, 


6  "THE    NATION" 

more  than  ever.     Careful  inquiry  should  be  directed  to  ascer- 
taining whether  this  is  really  the  fact. 

For  so  deep  a  social  disturbance  as  the  steady  forsaking 
of  country  life  by  those  who  can  escape  it,  remedies  that  go 
deep  are  obviously  necessary.  And  they  will  have  to  be  felt 
by  the  masses  rather  than  presented  by  the  rural  "uplifters." 
Causes  both  economic  and  social  must  get  powerfully  in  opera- 
tion before  we  shall  see  the  beginnings  of  the  desired  effect. 
The  argument  from  material  well-being  seems  already  to  be 
slowly  making  headway.  Historically,  the  flight  from  the 
country  to  the  city  was  at  first  a  part  of  the  industrial  revo- 
lution of  the  last  century.  The  great  factories,  the  more 
numerous  jobs,  were  in  urban  communities,  and  farm  workers, 
with  those  whose  house-industries  had  been  destroyed  by 
machinery  and  specialization,  went  to  the  towns  to  find  work. 
It  may  be  that  a  reaction  will  set  in,  also  for  economic  reasons. 
The  struggle  for  existence  may  drive  people  back  to  the  land. 
With  farming  made  easier  and  more  scientific  and  profitable, 
the  terrible  pressure  in  cities  may  soon  begin  to  extrude  to 
country  districts  many  who  must  seek  a  new  environment 
and  opportunity  if  they  are  to  maintain  themselves  above 
want  or  beggary.  Until  some  such  solid  advantages,  or  social 
necessities,  can  be  made  the  rural  set-off  to  the  artificial  charm 
of  the  city,  it  will  be  in  vain  to  hope  for  a  repopulation  of 
deserted  hillsides.  To  reinforce  the  economic  argument  by 
every  appeal  on  the  score  of  health  and  sentiment  is,  of  course, 
an  obvious  duty.  Nothing  that  can  be  done  to  improve 
country  schools,  or  to  promote  human  intercourse  among 
scattered  farmers,  should  be  omitted.  And  it  might  well  be 
hoped  that  a  change  of  mental  attitude  could  be  brought 
about  so  that  men  and  women  would  again  associate  their 
happiest  experiences  with  country  sights  and  sounds,  and 
have  such  remembered  thrills  of  pleasure  as  stirred  De  Quincey 
when  he  recalled  his  joy,  as  a  child,  at  the  blossoming  of  the 
crocuses  in  his  father's  garden. 


CONDITIONS  AND  NEEDS  OF  COUNTRY  LIFE  ^ 

John  M.  Gillette 

There  seems  to  be  a  consensus  of  opinion  that  there  is 
something  wrong  with  the  country.  Articles  discussing  the 
subject  are  myriad.  Did  the  agricultural  population  view 
itself  as  urban  writers  appear  to  view  it,  it  would  doubtless 
consider  itself  as  a  fit  subject  for  treatment  at  the  old-time 
"mourner's  bench."  That  certain  portions  of  our  rural  in- 
habitants are  interested  in  the  "improvement  of  rural  matters" 
is  evident  from  the  appearance  of  discussions  of  some  of  those 
matters  at  various  kinds  of  farmers'  meetings.  But  that  the 
agriculturalists  view  the  situation  with  alarm  is  by  no  means 
evident.  In  order  to  help  clear  up  the  situation,  it  may  be 
well  to  attempt  to  determine  just  what  is  the  rural  problem. 
It  may  be  well  to  show  first  what  it  is  not. 

I.    Negative  Aspects  of  the  Problem 

I.  It  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  the  problem 
consists  in  rural  deterioration  or  arises  because  of  rural  degen- 
eration. There  has  taken  place  in  the  United  States  no  such 
thing  as  general  rural  deterioration.  A  slight  acquaintance 
with  the  history  of  our  country  will  afford  ample  evidence 
that  there  has  been  general  advance  almost  all  along  the  line 
in  country  life.  As  compared  with  pre-national  times  the 
farm  population  is  better  housed,  better  clothed,  better  fed, 
better  educated  and  informed,  is  more  productive,  produces 
what  it  does  produce  more  easily,  has  better  implements 
and  agencies  with  which  to  work,  and  the  farm  women  have 

^  Copyright.  Reprinted  by  permission  from  The  Annals  of  the  Ameri- 
can Academy,  Vol.  xl,  March,  191 2,  pp.  3-1 1. 


8  JOHN  M.   GILLETTE 

been  emancipated  from  much  of  the  arduous  labor  which  fell 
to  their  lot  in  the  period  of  household  industry. 

Indeed  one  does  not  have  to  recur  to  so  remote  a  period 
as  that  to  find  striking  contrasts.  Many  of  our  aged  contem- 
poraries who  were  reared  on  the  farm  well  remember  the  back- 
ward conditions  which  obtained  in  matters  of  production, 
marketing,  transportation,  obtaining  necessaries  of  life  in  the 
home,  methods  of  living,  and  education.  Respect  for  truth 
impels  us  to  recognize  a  great  advance  in  the  general  condi- 
tions of  life  of  country  populations.  It  is  well  to  remember 
that  the  "rural  problem"  is  the  product  of  intelligence, 
directed  towards  a  province  which  has  hitherto  been  somewhat 
remote  from  comparison  and  criticism.  We  have  evolved 
certain  ideals  of  life  with  the  growth  of  cities  and  civilization, 
have  brought  them  to  bear  on  country  life  with  the  result 
that  the  latter  has  been  found  backward  in  some  respects 
as  measured  by  those  ideals.  The  few  instances  of  rural 
arrested  development  or  of  deterioration  are  a  minimum  in 
total  country  life  as  compared  with  the  extensive  slums  of 
the  cities. 

2.  It  is  also  a  mistake  to  assume,  as  is  so  frequently  done, 
that  the  problem  lies  in  the  direction  of  rural  depopulation. 
It  is  commonly  taken  for  granted  that  the  vast  growth  of 
urban  centers  has  taken  place  at  the  almost  entire  expense 
of  rural  districts.  There  is  a  movement  to  the  cities  of  rural 
populations.  It  may  have  its  serious  aspects.  But  it  is  not 
the  problem  preeminently.  An  analysis  of  the  census  reports 
and  those  of  the  Commissioner  General  of  Immigration  gives 
these  results.  City  growth  ensues  from  four  factors,  namely, 
incorporation,  natural  increase,  migration  from  the  country, 
and  immigration.  The  first  is  inconsequential.  Natural 
increase  accounts  for  about  20  per  cent  of  city  increase,  immi- 
gration, for  from  65  to  70  per  cent,  and  rural  migration  for 
the  remainder,  say  from  10  to  15  per  cent. 

Much  of  the  seeming  loss  of  population  to  the  cities  arises 


NEEDS  OF   COUNTRY  LIFE  9 

as  a  result  of  movement  of  farmers  away  from  their  old  loca- 
tions to  newer  agricultural  regions.  Practically  all  of  the  older 
states  have  been  heavy  losers  from  this  condition.  Iowa 
lost  population  during  the  last  decade  because  the  value  of 
land  was  high  and  farmers  sold  to  others  and  purchased  lands 
in  the  Dakotas  and  Canada,  helping  to  raise  the  land  values 
in  those  regions  enormously. 

Nor  must  it  be  expected  that  the  movement  to  cities  which 
actually  takes  place  is  likely  to  be  prevented  in  great  measure. 
The  forces  at  work  in  developing  civilization  and  which  must 
be  considered  basic  and  inevitable  are  largely  accountable 
for  the  movement.  The  matter  may  be  simply  stated.  One 
farmer  produces  sustenance  for  the  support  of  many  besides 
himself.  Double  his  productive  capacity  and  his  produce 
supports  double  the  original  number.  Carry  this  principle 
into  operation  generally  and  it  will  be  seen  that  non-agri- 
cultural communities  must  be  depended  on  to  absorb  the 
released  population.  Hence  cities  must  continue  to  make 
large  advances  in  population  as  compared  with  the  country. 

3.  Nor  is  the  rural  problem  one  of  improving  production 
chiefly,  for  the  nation  as  a  whole,  although  there  are  sections 
such  as  much  of  the  South  where  improved  agriculture  must 
take  place  before  other  essential  things  may  be  added  unto 
them.  The  motive  of  this  statement  is  not  one  of  minimiz- 
ing the  importance  of  inducing  a  more  scientific  and  pro- 
ductive agriculture.  The  economic  aspects  of  farming  are 
exceedingly  important.  Increased  production  should  mean 
an  increased  profit  and  this  in  turn  should  mean  higher  stand- 
ards of  living,  better  education  of  children,  and  improvement 
in  methods  of  living.  Farmers  no  doubt  get  too  little  out  of 
their  soil.  Much  greater  results  might  be  secured  also  by 
placing  agriculture  on  a  business  basis,  by  regarding  it  as  a 
capitalistic  enterprise  and  measuring  its  business  success  by 
the  extent  of  profits.  Organization  of  the  various  factors 
entering  into  the  business  so  as  to  secure  the  combination 


lo  JOHN  M.   GILLETTE 

which  would  yield  the  largest  returns,  and  keeping  a  record 
of  all  phases  of  the  business  so  as  to  have  exact  knowledge  of 
cause  and  effect,  should  prove  advantageous.  A  more  equi- 
table marketing  system  by  means  of  which  the  agricultural 
producers  secure  a  larger  share  of  the  consumer's  price  than 
they  do  at  present  is  desirable  and  constitutes  a  very  con- 
siderable problem  in  itself. 

While  some  portions  of  the  nation  are  backward  economi- 
cally in  agriculture,  it  is  not  true  as  a  whole  even  as  compared 
with  many  other  businesses.  Our  farmers  are  as  progressive 
in  their  business  as  a  class  as  are  the  mass  of  retail  merchants, 
or  as  the  mass  of  small  factory  men.  Further  there  is  nothing 
critical  in  the  present  method  of  agricultural  production. 
We  are  faced  by  no  famine.  Our  exportations  of  farm  produce 
are  still  large  and  promise  to  continue  so  for  some  time  to 
come.  Farmers  are  not  going  into  bankruptcy  because  of 
poor  methods.  They  are  prosperous  as  a  class.  Admit,  as 
we  must,  that  it  would  be  far  better  if  methods  which  did  not 
pauperize  the  soil  were  employed,  yet  this  is  not  the  funda- 
mental difficulty  in  farm  life. 

II.    Positive  Aspects  of  the  Problem 

I.  The  very  center  and  essence  of  the  rural  problem  is  the 
necessity  of  securing  the  establishment  of  a  new  point  of 
view,  a  wider  and  more  vital  outlook  on  the  part  of  the  resi- 
dents of  the  rural  regions.  At  first  consideration  this  may 
seem  rather  a  bizarre  statement  of  the  problem,  one  that  is 
remote  from  the  pressing  needs  of  those  regions.  But  granting 
for  a  moment  that  the  statement  is  valid,  let  us  recall  in  what 
the  value  of  a  point  of  view  consists. 

The  fact  of  dynamogenesis  emphasizes  the  truth  that  every 
idea  seeks  to  realize  itself  in  action,  to  get  itself  carried  out  by 
means  of  the  physical  organism.  There  is  a  tremendously 
significant  relation  between  ideas  and  activities.  Ideas,  in 
the  evolutionary  sense,  are  not  for  playing  mental  checkers 


NEEDS  OF   COUNTRY  LIFE  ii 

with  but  to  direct  activities  and  conduct.  Philosophers  may 
speculate  about  them  or  with  them,  but  for  the  mass  of  man- 
kind they  are  entertained  in  order  to  be  put  into  execution. 
And  the  more  powerful  the  ideas  are  the  more  true  this  is, 
that  is  the  more  immediate  is  the  execution.  The  ideas  which 
are  bathed  in  a  glow  of  feeling  are  the  most  executive.  They 
carry  themselves  out  most  speedily. 

Ideals  of  life  and  the  action  are  among  the  more  dynamic 
forms  of  ideas.  They  are  the  ones  which  appeal  to  men  as  the 
most  desirable  to  actualize,  are  most  longed  for,  have  the 
largest  element  of  feeling.  But  an  ideal  is  only  a  point  of 
view.  An  ideal  as  to  a  certain  line  of  action  expresses  the 
individual's  viewpoint  relative  to  that  section  of  human 
activities.  My  ideal  for  the  farmer  is  expressed  in  the  state- 
ment of  my  point  of  view  for  the  farmer. 

When  talking  of  viewpoints  we  are  speaking  of  the  most 
fundamental  factor  in  a  given  situation.  A  wholesome  view- 
point makes  a  wholesome  life.  A  changed  viewpoint  changes 
the  life.  Obtain  the  power  to  shape  the  point  of  view  of  the 
succeeding  generation  and  you  can  lead  it  where  you  will. 
Hence,  whatever  is  backward  in  country  life  is  due  to  its 
outlook,  and  we  cannot  hope  for  very  great  improvement  until 
the  outlook  of  rural  inhabitants  relative  to  the  place  and 
significance  of  farm  life  is  transformed. 

2.  There  are  two  vital  points  on  which  a  new  outlook 
must  be  developed  among  agriculturalists.  If  this  can  be 
secured  all  the  other  problems  may  be  associated  with  it  as 
incidents  of  attainment. 

(a)  One  of  these  points  is  the  matter  of  living.  A  new 
outlook  on  life,  its  meaning,  its  possibilities  of  enjoyment 
and  satisfaction,  and  as  to  the  means  which  are  fit  to  secure 
those  ends  is  intensely  needed.  Life  to  the  average  farmer  is 
devoid  of  the  larger  and  more  attractive  elements.  His  life 
is  a  round  of  eating,  working,  sleeping,  saving,  economizing, 
living  meagerly,  recognizing  only  the  bare  necessaries,  skimp- 


12  JOHN  M.   GILLETTE 

ing  along  with  inconveniences,  especially  in  the  home,  which 
is  uncalled  for  considering  his  wealth.  The  wealthy  farmer 
is  one  of  the  most  helpless  of  men  in  the  matter  of  finding 
satisfaction.  This  appears  whenever  he  moves  into  the  city 
to  live.  He  still  practices  the  stern  economies,  lives  in  houses 
without  modern  conveniences,  keeps  the  old  rag  carpets, 
attends  no  theaters,  goes  to  no  lectures  unless  they  are  free, 
and  acts  as  a  man  in  a  strange  world  or  as  one  with  a  starved 
soul.  The  enjoyment  side  of  life  is  lacking.  His  cultural  and 
esthetic  soul  is  in  a  state  of  suspended  animation. 

Such  facts  as  these  in  the  lives  of  the  multitude  of  rich 
residents  of  rural  districts  make  it  apparent  that  the  funda- 
mental problem  is  not  one  of  economics  but  of  transforming 
farmers  so  that  they  look  at  life  in  a  different  manner.  The 
appreciative  qualities  of  life  must  be  built  up.  They  need  to 
have  developed  the  sentiment  that  the  fullest  and  most 
successful  life  is  the  one  which  obtains  the  greatest  number 
of  satisfied  wants  in  passing.  Under  this  transformation  the 
country  will  build  good  houses,  comfortable  in  the  modern 
sense,  having  the  conveniences  which  lighten  the  lives  of  the 
indoor  workers,  and  the  equipment  which  renders  the  place 
sanitary  and  healthful.  It  will  put  in  machinery  everywhere 
possible  to  do  the  hard  work,  to  reduce  labor,  to  eliminate 
chores,  as  well  as  to  make  production  more  profitable.  It 
will  beautify  the  grounds,  improve  the  roads  for  travel  pur- 
poses, and  look  to  nature  as  a  source  of  inspiration. 

(b)  The  other  vital  point  is  to  secure  a  social  outlook. 
The  farmer  has  been  burdened  with  an  individualism  which 
has  been  extreme  and  in  a  measure  disastrous.  Under  the 
system  of  education  under  which  he  has  been  schooled  it  is 
perfectly  natural  that  this  should  be  so.  The  social  side  of 
life  has  never  been  opened  to  him.  That  he  was  a  part 
of  human  society,  that  he  worked  under  inexorable  laws  of 
markets  and  politics,  that  a  community  life  may  be  made  a 
means  of  satisfaction  and  training  were  not  self-evident  and 


NEEDS   OF   COUNTRY  LIFE  13 

axiomatic  propositions.  In  fact  he  has  no  conception  of  such 
truths  nor  had  his  immature  teachers  in  the  "little  old  red 
schoolhouse."  His  universe  was  bounded  by  physical  nature 
in  the  shape  of  sunshine,  rain  and  frost,  and  in  a  very  small 
measure  by  his  family  and  one  or  two  neighbors.  He  and 
nature  accounted  for  what  he  obtained.  There  were  no 
human  interlopers,  save  at  critical  times.  There  was  no  social 
accountability  that  was  very  persistent  and  apparent. 

As  a  consequence  he  never  caught  sight  of  the  fact  that  the 
farmers  are  a  great  social  class  and  have  a  worth  and  dignity 
as  such.  It  has  wealth  of  enormous  proportions,  approximat- 
ing one-fourth  of  the  nation's  wealth;  numbers  of  still  greater 
proportions,  practically  one-half  of  the  nation's  population; 
characteristics  and  interests  which  are  common  to  its  members 
and  which  differentiate  it  from  all  other  social  classes.  Its 
work  is  worthy,  its  position  secure,  its  future  promising.  But 
in  commanding  power  and  influence  in  the  direction  of  national 
affairs  this  really  great  social  class  is  lacking  and  manifests  its 
extreme  weakness.  Only  by  its  vote  at  election  times  does 
it  demonstrate  its  existence.  It  has  not  enough  power  to 
protect  itself  from  the  exploitation  of  other  classes  of  a  preda- 
tory nature.  It  has  been  victimized  by  the  politicians,  the 
trusts,  the  railways,  and  now  mercilessly  by  the  middle-men. 
What  it  needs  is  to  develop  a  class-consciousness  which  is 
self-respecting,  potent  for  organization  purposes  relative  to 
government  and  marketing,  and  which  operates  to  secure  a 
greater  regard  for  its  rights  and  possibilities. 

On  another  side  the  farmer's  social  outlook  has  been  want- 
ing. In  rural  communities  the  community,  sociability, 
associational  side  of  life  has  lain  fallow.  There  has  been  a 
reign  of  social  stagnation  and  social  poverty.  Without  social 
intercourse  the  life  of  the  average  person  would  be  considered 
empty  notwithstanding  the  largeness  of  the  farm,  the  heavy 
yield  of  produce,  the  quality  of  live  stock,  and  the  extent  of 
the  bank  account.     In  social  matters,  even  to  a  greater  degree 


14  JOHN  M.   GILLETTE 

than  in  those  of  finding  satisfaction  in  Hving,  the  country  is 
far  behind  the  corresponding  grades  of  city  life. 

In  one  sense  this  dearth  is  due  to  a  lack  of  intellectual 
stimulus  and  ferment.  Reading  has  not  been  cultivated  as  a 
source  of  pleasure  and  a  means  of  larger  information.  Social 
intercourse  of  a  larger  general  nature  is  likely  to  be  empty 
where  an  intellectual  circulating  medium  is  absent.  A  grasp 
and  discussion  of  the  more  important  social  matters  awaits 
the  development  of  information. 

Associations  of  a  recreative  and  entertainment  sort  are 
little  appreciated  in  the  country.  Men  of  the  farms  have  not 
discovered  the  play  life.  Its  possibilities  have  not  been 
opened  to  them.  Organized  games  for  the  children  and  recrea- 
tion for  the  adults  are  among  the  greatest  desiderata  of  rural 
communities.  Opportunities  for  these  will  present  themselves 
as  soon  as  their  appreciation  is  developed. 

Deficiencies  of  social  contact  and  co-operative  stimulus 
are  apparent.  Cities  abound  in  means  and  agencies  to  satisfy 
these  ends.  Isolation  has  seemed  to  insulate  farmers  from 
each  other.  It  is  an  obstacle  whose  gravity  must  be  realized 
although  its  prohibitive  strength  is  likely  to  be  overrated. 
Organizations  for  bringing  about  community  co-operative 
activities  for  both  economic  and  sociability  purposes  are 
highly  desirable  and  necessary  and  are  coming  into  existence 
as  fast  as  the  appreciation  of  their  worth  is  discovered  by  the 
farming  community. 

3.  There  are  certain  fundamentals  which  are  incident  to 
the  realization  of  this  needed  point  of  view.  They  must  be 
obtained  before  the  larger  and  better  outlook  can  be  fully 
and  permanently  rooted  as  a  part  of  the  working  capital  of 
rural  society. 

(a)  Leadership  of  a  residential  and  effective  kind  is  neces- 
sary to  enable  the  country  to  work  out  its  destiny  along  the 
lines  indicated  above.  A  trained  resident  leadership  is 
largely  wanting  in  agricultural  neighborhoods.     Young  men 


NEEDS  OF  COUNTRY  LIFE  15 

and  women  who  go  to  higher  institutions  of  learning  seldom 
settle  in  the  country.  Even  the  students  from  agricultural 
colleges  must  be  included  in  this  statement.  The  country  is 
being  sapped  of  its  ability  of  the  trained  sort  by  the  towns 
and  cities.  It  has  plenty  of  natural  ability  left  but  it  is  not 
developed  into  a  working  leadership.  The  country  is  there- 
fore forced  to  look  to  other  sources  outside  itself  for  initiative 
and  organizing  ability  which  is  required.  So  long  as  this  is 
the  case  it  must  suffer  accordingly.  Every  class  and  com- 
munity m.ust  ultimately  expect  to  depend  on  its  own  intelli- 
gence and  the  sympathetic  devotion  of  its  own  able  managers. 
Even  fairly  intelligent  communities  are  handicapped  without 
them. 

(b)  The  reorganization  of  rural  education  is  a  necessary 
step  toward  the  realization  of  a  changed  viewpoint  and  a 
larger  rural  life.  The  country  school  is  one  of  the  few  things 
that  has  remained  practically  unchanged  during  the  last 
quarter  of  a  century.  While  farms  have  grown,  farming  has 
been  improved,  houses  and  barns  have  become  larger  and 
better,  the  country  church  has  been  better  housed  and  manned, 
the  old  schoolhouse  has  remained  as  it  was,  and  the  course  of 
study  has  become  little  more  adjusted  to  the  needs  of  the 
times.  To  meet  the  demands  of  the  situation  some  important 
modifications  must  be  made  in  rural  schools. 

First,  they  must  be  depended  on  to  furnish  the  resident 
leadership  which  is  required.  Higher  institutions  of  learning 
cannot  do  this  because  of  the  leakages  noted  above,  and 
because  they  cannot  touch  the  life  of  every  boy  and  girl 
directly  in  necessary  ways.  A  leadership  must  be  informed  on 
the  things  which  are  close  to  farm  life;  matters  of  agriculture, 
marketing,  organization  for  protective  purposes  as  well  as  for 
constructive  objects,  the  worth  and  value  of  sociability  func- 
tions of  the  upbuilding  sort,  and  the  improvement  of  home 
life.  In  order  to  understand  and  appreciate  those  things  it 
must  have  a  training  and  culture  in  them  during  the  education 


1 6  JOHN  M.   GILLETTE 

period.  Every  one  must  be  so  informed  and  skilled  that  he 
or  she  may  rise  to  take  a  leading  part  in  the  affairs  of  the 
community  if  the  ability  is  present.  This  means  that  the 
schools  of  the  region  must  contain  and  teach  the  matters 
which  are  crucial  and  intrinsic  to  farm  life.  Agriculture, 
domestic  economy,  rural  sociology,  are  some  of  the  necessary 
and  pressing  subjects  which  must  be  taught. 

Second,  the  consolidation  of  schools  constitutes  another 
necessary  step  to  realize  the  object  denoted.  The  single- 
room  school-house  is  entirely  inadequate  to  meet  the  situation. 
It  cannot  supply  the  grading,  the  able  teaching  force,  the 
equipment  and  room  for  carrying  on  work  of  a  vocational 
nature,  the  numbers  of  pupils  needed  to  carry  on  organized 
play,  the  differentiated  housing  and  facilities  demanded  for 
the  sociability,  recreational,  entertainment,  and  cultural 
activities  of  the  adults  as  organized  into  a  social  center,  and 
other  important  neighborhood  functions.  Moreover,  the 
consolidated  school,  while  providing  for  all  of  the  above 
essential  needs,  can  extend  its  course  of  study  so  as  to  include 
high-school  work  as  a  further  qualification  of  that  leadership 
and  to  appreciate  intelligence  which  the  country  neigh- 
borhood demands.  The  latter  would  afford  time  for  the 
gradual  and  completer  inculcation  of  the  larger  and  finer 
ideals  of  life,  and  teach  the  things  which  will  make  the  life 
of  the  average  man  and  woman  something  more  than  a  mere 
existence. 

4.  A  closing  remark  may  well  be  devoted  to  the  proper  point 
of  view  with  which  the  rural  problem  is  to  be  regarded.  A 
very  large  part  of  the  emphasis  in  the  discussions  of  farm  life 
has  been  laid  on  the  necessity  of  improving  it  in  order  to  keep 
the  boys  and  girls  from  drifting  to  the  cities.  The  assumption 
has  been  that  the  country  needs  them  and  that  city  attractions 
established  in  the  country  would  be  effective  in  holding  them 
there.  However  effective  this  procedure  might  prove  to  ac- 
complish what  is  urged,  and  its  effectiveness  may  well  be 


NEEDS   OF   COUNTRY  LIFE  17 

doubted,  it  does  not  appear  to  be  the  highest  motive  which 
may  be  furnished. 

A  more  just  view  regards  the  improvement  of  farm  life  as  a 
procedure  which  of  right  belongs  to  that  great  multitude  of 
good  people  who  will  always  be  rural  residents.  They  have  a 
humanity  in  common  with  the  residents  of  the  cities.  They 
have  needs  of  life  and  work  which  they  ought  to  realize  if 
they  can  only  obtain  a  vision  of  their  possibility  and  worth. 
They  are  the  heirs  of  the  products  which  the  myriads  of  the 
makers  of  civilization  have  created  and  conserved  and  should 
of  right  come  into  the  enjoyment  of  them.  Country  popula- 
tions have  a  right  in  their  own  stead  to  enjoy  all  that  life  offers, 
even  if  they  do  not  contemplate  leaving  the  soil  for  the  city. 
The  great  problem  is  to  discover  a  way  by  which  their  outlook 
on  life  and  society  may  be  transformed  into  one  which  appre- 
ciates the  worth  of  realizing  the  greatest  satisfactions  and 
possibilities  which  may  come  to  them  as  rural  citizens  of  the 
great  republic. 


THE    SOCIAL    CENTER:     A    MEANS    OF    COMMON 
UNDERSTANDING ' 

WooDROW  Wilson 

I  DO  not  feel  that  I  have  deserved  the  honor  of  standing 
here  upon  this  occasion  to  make  what  has  been  courteously 
called  the  principal  address,  because  five  months  ago  I  did 
not  know  anything  about  this  movement.  I  have  taken  no 
active  part  in  it,  and  I  am  not  going  to  assume,  as  those  who 
have  preceded  me  have  assumed,  that  you  know  what  the 
movement  is.  I  want,  if  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  clarify 
my  own  thinking,  to  state  as  briefly  as  possible  what  the 
movement  is. 

The  object  of  the  movement  is  to  make  the  schoolhouse  the 
civic  center  of  the  community,  at  any  rate  in  such  commu- 
nities as  are  supplied  with  no  other  place  of  common  resort. 

Ready  for  Use  —  The  Means  oj  Concerting  Common  Life 

It  is  obvious  that  the  schoolhouse  is  in  most  communities 
used  only  during  certain  hours  of  the  day,  those  hours  when 
the  rest  of  the  community  is  busily  engaged  in  bread-winning 
work.  It  occurred  to  the  gentlemen  who  started  this  move- 
ment that  inasmuch  as  the  schoolhouses  belonged  to  the 
community  it  was  perfectly  legitimate  that  the  community 
should  use  them  for  its  own  entertainment  and  schooling 
when  the  young  people  were  not  occupying  them.  And  that, 
therefore,  it  would  be  a  good  idea  to  have  there  all  sorts  of 
gatherings  for  social  purposes,  for  purposes  of  entertainment, 

1  An  address  delivered  before  the  First  National  Conference  on  Civic 
and  Social  Center  Development,  at  Madison,  Wis.,  October  25,  1911. 


THE  SOCIAL  CENTER  19 

for  purposes  of  conference,  for  any  legitimate  thing  that 
might  bring  neighbors  and  friends  together  in  the  school- 
houses.  That,  I  understand  it,  in  its  simplest  terms  is  the 
civic-center  movement  —  that  the  schoolhouses  might  be 
made  a  place  of  meeting  —  in  short,  where  by  meeting  each 
other  the  people  of  a  community  might  know  each  other,  and 
by  knowing  each  other  might  concert  a  common  life,  a  common 
action. 

Spontaneous  Development 

The  study  of  the  civic  center  is  the  study  of  the  spontaneous 
life  of  communities.  What  you  do  is  to  open  the  schoolhouse 
and  light  it  in  the  evening  and  say:  "Here  is  a  place  where 
you  are  welcome  to  come  and  do  anything  that  it  occurs  to 
you  to  do." 

And  the  interesting  thing  about  this  movement  is  that  a 
great  many  things  have  occurred  to  people  to  do  in  the  school- 
house,  things  social,  things  educational,  things  political  — 
for  one  of  the  reasons  why  politics  took  on  a  new  complexion 
in  the  city  in  which  this  movement  originated  was  that  the 
people  who  could  go  into  the  schoolhouses  at  night  knew  what 
was  going  on  in  that  city  and  insisted  upon  talking  about  it, 
and  the  minute  they  began  talking  about  it  many  things 
became  impossible,  for  there  are  scores  of  things  that  must 
be  put  a  stop  to  in  our  politics  that  will  stop  the  moment  they 
are  talked  of  where  men  will  listen.  The  treatment  for  bad 
politics  is  exactly  the  modern  treatment  for  tuberculosis  — 
it  is  exposure  to  the  open  air. 

Now,  you  have  to  begin  at  the  root  of  the  matter  in  order 
to  understand  what  it  is  you  intend  to  serve  by  this  move- 
ment. You  intend  to  serve  the  life  of  communities,  the  life 
that  is  there,  the  life  that  you  cannot  create,  the  life  to  which 
you  can  only  give  release  and  opportunity;  and  wherein  does 
that  life  consist?  That  is  the  question  that  interests  mc. 
There  can  be  no  life  in  a  community  so  long  as  its  parts  are 


20  WOODROW  WILSON 

segregated  and  separated.  It  is  just  as  if  you  separated  the 
organs  of  the  human  body  and  then  expected  them  to  produce 
life.  You  must  open  wide  the  channels  of  sympathy  and 
communication  between  them,  you  must  make  channels  for 
the  tides  of  life;  if  you  clog  them  anywhere,  if  you  stop  them 
anywhere,  why  then  the  processes  of  disease  set  in,  which  are 
the  processes  of  misunderstanding,  which  are  the  disconnec- 
tions between  the  spiritual  impulses  of  different  sections  of 
men. 

Common  Center  Essential  to  Community  Life 

The  very  definition  of  community  is  a  body  of  men  who 
have  things  in  common;  who  are  conscious  that  they  have 
things  in  common;  who  judge  those  common  things  from  a 
single  point  of  view,  namely,  the  point  of  view  of  general 
interest.  Such  a  thing  as  a  community  is  unthinkable, 
therefore,  unless  you  have  close  communication;  there  must 
be  a  vital  interrelationship  of  parts,  there  must  be  a  fusion, 
there  must  be  a  coordination,  there  must  be  a  free  intercourse, 
there  must  be  such  a  contact  as  will  constitute  union  itself 
before  you  will  have  the  true  course  of  the  wholesome  blood 
throughout  the  body. 

Therefore,  when  you  analyze  some  of  our  communities  you 
will  see  just  how  necessary  it  is  to  get  their  parts  together. 
Take  some  of  our  great  cities  for  example.  Do  you  not  realize 
by  common  gossip  even  the  absolute  disconnection  of  what 
we  call  their  residential  sections  from  the  rest  of  the  city? 
Isn't  it  singular  that  while  human  beings  live  all  over  a  city, 
we  pick  out  a  part,  a  place  where  there  are  luxurious  and 
well-appointed  houses,  and  call  that  the  residential  section? 
As  if  nobody  else  lived  anywhere  in  that  city!  That  is  the 
place  where  the  most  disconnected  part  and  in  some  instances 
the  most  useless  part  of  the  community  lives.  There  men  do 
not  know  their  next-door  neighbors;  there  men  do  not  want 
to  know  their  next-door  neighbors;    there  is  no  bond  of  sym- 


THE   SOCIAL   CENTER  21 

pathy;  there  is  no  bond  of  knowledge  or  common  acquaint- 
anceship. 

I  am  not  speaking  of  these  things  to  impeach  a  class,  for  I 
know  of  no  just  way  in  which  to  impeach  a  class. 

It  is  necessary  that  such  portions  of  the  community  should 
be  linked  with  the  other  portions;  it  is  necessary  that  simple 
means  should  be  found  by  which  by  an  interchange  of  points 
of  view  we  may  get  together,  for  the  whole  process  of  modern 
life,  the  whole  process  of  modern  politics,  is  a  process  by  which 
we  must  exclude  misunderstandings,  exclude  hostilities,  ex- 
clude deadly  rivalries,  make  men  understand  other  men's 
interests,  bring  all  men  into  common  counsel,  and  so  discover 
what  is  the  common  interest. 

That  is  the  problem  of  modern  life  which  is  so  specialized 
that  it  is  almost  devitalized,  so  disconnected  that  the  tides 
of  life  will  not  flow. 

Means  to  the  Unity  of  Communities 

My  interest  in  this  movement,  as  it  has  been  described  to 
me,  has  been  touched  with  enthusiasm  because  I  see  in  it  a 
channel  for  the  restoration  of  the  unity  of  communities. 
Because  I  am  told  that  things  have  already  happened  which 
bear  promise  of  this  very  thing. 

I  was  told  what  is  said  to  be  a  typical  story  of  a  very  fine 
lady,  a  woman  of  very  fine  natural  parts,  but  very  fastidious, 
whose  automobile  happened  to  be  stalled  one  night  in  front 
of  an  open  schoolhouse  where  a  meeting  was  going  on  over 
which  her  seamstress  was  presiding.  She  was  induced  by  some 
acquaintances  of  hers  whom  she  saw  going  into  the  building 
to  go  in,  and  was  at  first  filled  with  disdain;  she  didn't  like 
the  looks  of  some  of  the  people;  there  was  too  much  mixture 
of  the  sort  she  didn't  care  to  associate  with  —  an  employee 
of  her  own  was  presiding  —  but  she  was  obliged  to  stay  a 
little  while;  it  was  the  most  comfortable  place  to  stay  while 
her  automobile  was  repaired;   and  before  she  could  get  away 


2  2  WOODROW  WILSON 

she  had  been  touched  with  the  generous  contagion  of  the 
place.  Here  were  people  of  all  sorts  talking  about  things 
that  were  interesting,  that  revealed  to  her  things  that  she  had 
never  dreamed  of  before  with  regard  to  the  vital  common 
interests  of  persons  whom  she  had  always  thought  unlike 
herself,  so  that  the  community  of  the  human  heart  was  re- 
vealed to  her,  the  singleness  of  human  life. 

Worth  Any  Efort  to  Promote 

Now,  if  this  thing  does  that,  it  is  worth  any  effort  to  promote 
it.  If  it  will  do  that,  it  is  the  means  by  which  we  shall  create 
communities.  And  nothing  else  will  produce  liberty.  You 
cannot  have  liberty  where  men  do  not  want  the  same  liberty, 
you  cannot  have  it  where  they  are  not  in  sympathy  with  one 
another,  you  cannot  have  it  where  they  do  not  understand 
one  another,  you  cannot  have  it  when  they  are  not  seeking 
common  things  by  common  means;  you  simply  cannot  have 
it.  We  must  study  the  means  by  which  these  things  are 
produced. 

In  the  first  place,  don't  you  see  that  you  produce  commu- 
nities by  creating  common  feeling?  I  know  that  a  great 
emphasis  is  put  upon  the  mind  in  our  day,  and  as  a  university 
man  I  should  perhaps  not  challenge  the  supremacy  of  the 
intellect;  but  I  have  never  been  convinced  that  mind  was 
really  monarch  in  our  day,  or  in  any  day  that  I  have  yet 
read  of;  or,  if  it  is  monarch,  it  is  one  of  the  modern  monarchs 
that  rules  and  reigns  but  does  not  govern. 

Common  Feeling  Essential  to  Free  Government 

WTiat  really  controls  our  action  is  feeling.  We  are  governed 
by  the  passions,  and  the  most  that  we  can  manage  by  all  our 
social  and  political  endeavors  is  that  the  handsome  passions 
shall  be  in  the  majority  —  the  passion  of  sympathy,  the  pas- 
sion of  justice,   the  passion  of  fair  dealing,   the  passion  of 


THE   SOCIAL   CENTER  23 

unselfishness  (if  it  may  be  elevated  into  a  passion).  If  you 
can  once  see  that  a  working  majority  is  obtained  for  the 
handsome  passions,  for  the  feelings  that  draw  us  together 
rather  than  for  the  feelings  that  separate  us,  then  you  have 
laid  the  foundation  of  a  community  and  a  free  government; 
and,  therefore,  if  you  can  do  nothing  else  in  the  community 
center  than  draw  men  together  so  that  they  will  have  common 
feeling,  you  will  have  set  forward  the  cause  of  civilization  and 
the  cause  of  human  freedom. 

As  a  basis  of  the  coming  feeling  you  must  have  a  mutual 
comprehension.  The  fundamental  truth  in  modern  life,  as  I 
analyze  it,  is  a  profound  ignorance.  I  am  not  one  of  those 
who  challenge  the  promoters  of  special  interests  on  the  ground 
that  they  are  malevolent,  that  they  are  bad  men;  I  challenge 
their  leadership  on  the  ground  that  they  are  ignorant  men; 
that  when  you  have  absorbed  yourself  in  a  particular  business 
through  half  your  life  you  have  no  other  point  of  view  than 
the  point  of  view  of  that  business,  and  that,  therefore,  you  are 
disqualified  by  ignorance  from  giving  counsel  as  to  the  com- 
mon interests. 

A  witty  English  writer  once  said:  "If  you  chain  a  man's 
head  to  a  ledger  and  knock  oflf  something  from  his  wages 
every  time  he  stops  adding  up,  you  can't  expect  him  to  have 
enlightened  views  about  the  antipodes."  Simply,  if  you 
immerse  a  man  in  a  given  undertaking,  no  matter  how  big 
that  undertaking  is,  and  keep  him  immersed  for  half  a  life- 
time, you  can't  expect  him  to  see  any  horizon,  you  can't 
expect  him  to  see  human  life  steadily  or  see  it  whole. 

Means  to  Liberal  Education 

I  once  made  this  statement,  that  a  university  was  intended 
to  make  young  ])e()plc  just  as  unlike  their  fathers  as  possible. 
By  which  I  do  not  mean  anything  disrespectful  to  their 
fathers,  but  merely  this,  by  the  time  a  man  is  old  enough  to 
have  children  in  college,  his  point  of  view  is  apt  to  have 


24  WOODROW  WILSON 

become  so  specialized  that  they  would  better  be  taken  away 
from  him  and  put  in  a  place  where  their  views  of  life  will  be 
regeneralized  and  they  will  be  disconnected  from  the  family 
and  connected  with  the  world.  That  I  understand  to  be 
the  function  of  education,  of  the  liberal  education. 

Now,  a  kind  of  liberal  education  must  underlie  every 
wholesome  political  and  social  process,  the  kind  of  liberal 
education  which  connects  a  man's  feeling  and  his  comprehen- 
sion with  the  general  run  of  mankind,  which  disconnects  him 
from  the  special  interests  and  marries  his  thought  to  the 
common  interests  of  great  communities  and  of  great  cities 
and  of  great  States  and  of  great  nations,  and,  if  possible,  with 
that  brotherhood  of  man  that  transcends  the  boundaries  of 
nations  themselves. 

Those  are  the  horizons,  to  my  mind,  of  this  social  center 
movement,  that  they  are  going  to  unite  the  feelings  and  clarify 
the  comprehension  of  communities,  of  bodies  of  men  who  draw 
together  in  conference. 

Conference  Always  Modifies  and  Improves  Thought 

I  would  like  to  ask  if  this  is  not  the  experience  of  every 
person  here  who  has  ever  acted  in  any  conference  of  any 
kind.  Did  you  ever  go  out  of  a  conference  with  exactly  the 
same  views  with  which  you  went  in?  If  you  did,  I  am  sorry 
for  you;  you  must  be  thought-tight.  For  my  part  I  can 
testify  that  I  never  carried  a  scheme  into  a  conference  without 
having  it  profoundly  modified  by  the  criticism  of  the  other 
men  in  the  conference  and  without  recognizing  when  I  came 
out  that  the  product  of  the  common  council  bestowed  upon 
it  was  very  much  superior  to  any  private  thought  that  might 
have  been  used  for  its  development.  The  processes  of  attri- 
tion, the  contributions  to  consensus  of  minds,  the  compromises 
of  thought  create  those  general  movements  which  are  the 
streams  of  tendency  and  the  streams  of  development. 


THE  SOCIAL   CENTER  25 

Will  Make  Easier  Solution  of  Great  Problems 

And  so  it  seems  to  me  that  what  is  going  to  be  produced 
by  this  movement  —  not  all  at  once,  by  slow  and  tedious 
stages,  no  doubt,  but  nevertheless  very  certainly  in  the  end 
—  is  in  the  first  place  a  release  of  common  forces  now  un- 
discovered, now  somewhere  banked  up,  and  now  somewhere 
unavailable,  the  removal  of  barriers  to  the  common  under- 
standing, the  opening  of  mind  to  mind,  the  clarification  of 
the  air  and  the  release  in  that  clarified  air  of  forces  that  can 
live  in  it,  and  just  so  certainly  as  you  release  those  forces  you 
make  easier  the  fundamental  problem  of  modern  society, 
which  is  the  problem  of  accommodating  the  various  interests 
in  modern  society  to  one  another. 

Adjustment  Necessary  to  Liberty 

I  used  to  teach  my  classes  in  the  university  that  liberty 
was  a  matter  of  adjustment,  and  I  was  accustomed  to  illustrate 
it  in  this  way:  When  you  have  perfectly  assembled  the  parts 
of  a  great  steam  engine,  for  example,  then  when  it  runs,  you 
say  that  it  runs  free;  that  means  that  the  adjustment  is  so 
perfect  that  the  friction  is  reduced  to  a  minimum,  doesn't 
it?  And  the  minute  you  twist  any  part  out  of  alignment, 
the  minute  you  lose  adjustment,  then  there  is  a  buckling  up 
and  the  whole  thing  is  rigid  and  useless.  Now,  to  my  mind, 
that  is  the  image  of  human  liberty;  the  individual  is  free  in 
porportion  to  his  perfect  accommodation  to  the  whole,  or, 
to  put  it  the  other  way,  in  proportion  to  the  perfect  adjust-, 
ment  of  the  whole  to  his  life  and  interests. 

Take  another  illustration.  You  are  sailing  a  boat.  When 
do  you  say  that  she  is  running  free,  when  you  have  thrown 
her  up  into  the  wind?  No;  not  at  all.  Every  stick  and 
stitch  in  her  shivers,  and  you  say  she  is  in  irons.  Nature 
has  grasped  her  and  says,  "You  cannot  go  that  way."  But 
let  her  fall  off,  let  the  sheets  fill,  and  see  her  run  like  a  bird 


26  WOODROW  WILSON 

skimming  the  waters.  Why  is  she  free?  Because  she  has 
adjusted  herself  to  the  great  force  of  nature  that  is  brewed 
with  the  breath  of  the  wind.  She  is  free  in  proportion  as 
she  is  adjusted,  as  she  is  obedient,  and  so  men  are  free  in 
society  in  proportion  as  their  interests  are  accommodated  to 
one  another,  and  that  is  the  problem  of  liberty. 

Analysis  Accomplished  —  now  Assembled 

Liberty  as  now  expressed  is  unsatisfactory  in  this  country 
and  in  other  countries  because  there  has  not  been  a  satis- 
factory adjustment,  and  you  cannot  readjust  the  parts  until 
you  analyze  them.  Very  well,  we  have  analyzed  them. 
Now,  this  movement  is  intended  to  contribute  to  an  effort  to 
assemble  them,  bring  them  together,  let  them  look  one  another 
in  the  face,  let  them  reckon  with  one  another,  and  then  they 
will  cooperate,  and  not  before. 

You  cannot  bring  adjustment  into  play  until  you  have 
got  the  consent  of  the  parts  to  act  together,  and  then,  when 
you  have  got  the  adjustment,  when  you  have  discovered  and 
released  those  forces  and  they  have  accommodated  themselves 
to  each  other,  you  have  that  control  which  is  the  sovereignty 
of  the  people. 

There  is  no  sovereignty  of  the  people  if  the  several  sections 
of  the  people  be  at  loggerheads  with  one  another.  Sover- 
eignty comes  with  cooperation;  sovereignty  comes  with 
mutual  protection;  sovereignty  comes  with. the  quick  pulses 
of  sympathy;   sovereignty  comes  by  a  common  impulse. 

You  say,  and  all  men  say,  that  great  political  changes  are 
impending  in  this  country.  Why  do  you  say  so?  Because 
everywhere  you  go  you  find  men  expressing  the  same  judg- 
ment, alive  to  the  same  circumstances,  determined  to  solve 
the  problems  by  acting  together,  no  matter  what  older  bonds 
they  may  break,  no  matter  what  former  prepossessions  they 
may  throw  off,  determined  to  get  together  and  do  the  thing. 


THE  SOCIAL  CENTER  27 

Enlightened  Control  in  Place  of  Management 

And  so  you  know  that  changes  are  impending  because  what 
was  a  body  of  scattered  sentiment  is  now  becoming  a  con- 
centrated force,  and  so  with  sympathy  and  understanding 
comes  control,  for,  in  place  of  this  control  of  enlightened  and 
sovereign  opinions,  we  have  had  in  the  field  of  politics,  as 
elsewhere,  the  reign  of  management,  and  management  is 
compounded  of  these  two  things,  secrecy  plus  concentration. 

You  cannot  manage  a  nation,  you  cannot  manage  the 
people  of  a  State,  you  cannot  manage  a  great  population, 
you  can  manage  only  some  central  force.  What  you  do, 
therefore,  if  you  want  to  manage  in  politics  or  anywhere  else, 
is  to  choose  a  great  single  force  or  single  group  of  forces  and 
then  find  some  man  or  men  sagacious  and  secretive  enough  to 
manage  the  business  without  being  discovered.  And  that  has 
been  done  for  a  generation  in  the  United  States. 

Now,  the  schoolhouse,  among  other  things,  is  going  to  break 
that  up.  Is  it  not  significant  that  this  thing  is  being  erected 
upon  the  foundation  originally  laid  in  America,  where  we 
saw  from  the  first  that  the  schoolhouse  and  the  church  were 
to  be  the  pillars  of  the  RepubHc?  Is  it  not  significant  that, 
as  if  by  instinct,  we  return  to  those  sources  of  liberty  undefiled 
which  we  find  in  the  common  meeting  place  —  in  the  place 
owned  by  everybody,  in  the  place  where  nobody  can  be 
excluded,  in  the  place  to  which  everybody  comes  as  by  right? 

And  so  what  we  are  doing  is  simply  to  open  what  was  shut, 
to  let  the  light  come  in  upon  places  that  were  dark,  to  sub- 
stitute for  locked  doors  open  doors,  for  it  does  not  make  any 
difference  how  many  or  how  few  come  in  provided  anybody 
who  chooses  may  come  in.  So,  as  soon  as  you  have  established 
that  principle,  you  have  openings,  and  these  doors  are  open 
as  if  they  were  the  floodgates  of  life. 


28  WOODROW  WILSON 

Faith  in  People  Justified 

I  do  not  wonder  that  men  are  exhibiting  an  increased  con- 
fidence in  the  judgments  of  the  people,  because  wherever  you 
give  the  people  a  chance,  such  as  this  movement  has  given 
them  in  the  schoolhouse,  they  avail  themselves  of  it.  This 
is  not  a  false  people,  this  is  not  a  people  guided  by  blind 
impulses,  this  is  a  people  who  want  to  think,  who  want  to 
think  right,  whose  feelings  are  based  upon  justice,  whose 
instincts  are  for  fairness  and  for  the  light. 

So  what  I  see  in  this  movement  is  a  recovery  of  the  con- 
structive and  creative  genius  of  the  American  people,  because 
the  American  people  as  a  people  are  so  far  different  from 
others  in  being  able  to  produce  new  things,  to  create  new 
things  out  of  old. 

This  Movement  Fundamentally  American 

I  have  often  thought  that  we  overlook  the  fact  that  the 
real  sources  of  strength  in  the  community  come  from  the 
bottom.  Do  you  find  society  renewing  itself  from  the  top? 
Don't  you  find  society  renewing  itself  from  the  ranks  of 
unknown  men?  Do  you  look  to  the  leading  families  to  go 
on  leading  you?  Do  you  look  to  the  ranks  of  the  men  already 
established  in  authority  to  contribute  sons  to  lead  the  next 
generation?  They  may,  sometimes  they  do,  but  you  can't 
count  on  them;  and  what  you  are  constantly  depending  on 
is  the  rise  out  of  the  ranks  of  unknown  men,  the  discovery  of 
men  whom  you  had  passed  by,  the  sudden  disclosure  of 
capacity  you  had  not  dreamed  of,  the  emergence  of  somebody 
from  some  place  of  which  you  had  thought  the  least,  of  some 
man  unanointed  from  on  high,  to  do  the  thing  that  the  genera- 
tion calls  for.  Who  would  have  looked  to  see  Lincoln  save  a 
nation?  Who  that  knew  Lincoln  when  he  was  a  lad  and  a 
youth  and  a  young  man  —  but  all  the  while  there  was  spring- 
ing up  in  him  as  if  he  were  connected  with  the  very  soil  itself, 


THE    SOCIAL    CENTER  29 

the  sap  of  a  nation,  the  vision  of  a  great  people,  a  sympathy 
so  ingrained  and  intimate  with  the  common  run  of  men  that 
he  was  Hke  the  people  impersonated,  sublimated,  touched 
with  genius.  And  it  is  to  such  sources  that  we  must  always 
look. 

No  man  can  calculate  the  courses  of  genius,  no  man  can 
foretell  the  leadership  of  nations.  And  so  we  must  see  to  it 
that  the  bottom  is  left  open,  we  must  see  to  it  that  the  soil  of 
the  common  feeling  of  the  common  consciousness  is  always 
fertile  and  unclogged,  for  there  can  be  no  fruit  unless  the 
roots  touch  the  rich  sources  of  life. 

And  it  seems  to  me  that  the  schoolhouses  dotted  here,  there, 
and  everywhere,  over  the  great  expanse  of  this  Nation,  will 
some  day  prove  to  be  the  roots  of  that  great  tree  of  liberty 
which  shall  spread  for  the  sustenance  and  protection  of  all 
mankind. 


THE   RURAL   REFORMATION  ^ 
Robert  W.  Bruere 

We  are  in  the  midst  of  a  rural  revolution.  The  pre-emption 
of  the  "area  available  for  agricultural  purposes"  which, 
according  to  the  Federal  census,  was  practically  complete  at  the 
beginning  of  the  new  century,  has  set  in  motion  forces  that 
are  swiftly  transforming  the  spirit  of  American  farm  life  and 
the  character  of  the  economic  and  social  institutions  in  the 
open  country. 

For  more  than  a  hundred  years  —  approximately  from  the 
time  when  the  embargo  of  1807  established  the  "nursing  of 
infant  industries"  as  our  dominant  national  policy  —  the 
industrial  revolution,  with  its  teeming  commercial  and  manu- 
facturing centers,  has  shaped  the  course  of  American  civili- 
zation. Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  throughout  the 
nineteenth  century  the  rural  population  greatly  outnumbered 
the  population  of  the  cities,  its  influence  upon  national  affairs 
remained  definitely  secondary.  So  long  as  there  were  millions 
of  acres  available  for  agricultural  settlement,  the  power  of 
the  rural  majority  was  subject  to  ready  control.  Whenever 
the  farmers  attempted  to  organize,  as  they  did  through  the 
Grange  in  the  sixties  and  seventies,  and  again  through  the 
Populist  uprising  of  the  early  nineties,  their  ranks  were  broken 
and  scattered  by  the  opening  of  vast  reserves  of  arable  land. 
Effective  group  action  is  impossible  without  stability,  an 
economic  surplus,  and  leisure;  cheap  lands  meant  cheap  prices 
for  agricultural  products;  so  long  as  "Uncle  Sam  was  rich 
enough  to  give  us  each  a  farm,"  the  rural  majority  could  be 

1  Copyright.     Reprinted  by  permission  from  Harper's  Magazine,  No- 
vember, 1914. 


THE   RURAL  REFORMATION  31 

held  at  an  economic,  political,  and  social  disadvantage.  But 
the  final  pre-emption  of  the  "area"  available  for  agricultural 
purposes  has  done  for  the  American  farmer  what  powder  and 
the  crossbow  did  for  the  English  yeomen  at  Crecy.  The  cheap 
lands  of  the  Argentine  Republic  and  of  Little  Russia  will  not 
suffice  to  break  their  ranks  again. 

The  sign  of  the  new  sovereignty  is  on  every  one's  lips. 
Not  within  living  memory,  certainly  not  in  times  of  peace, 
has  the  high  cost  of  living  had  such  universal  currency. 
Economists  tell  us  that  the  cause  of  high  prices  is  to  be  found 
in  the  abnormal  increase  of  the  world's  gold  supply,  in  the 
"brigandage  of  the  middleman,"  in  the  growth  of  luxury, 
the  aggressions  of  labor,  and  all  manner  of  disturbances  in 
the  industrial  world.  But  there  is  yet  another  explanation 
which  has  not  received  the  consideration  its  reasonableness 
demands.  In  great  agricultural  states  like  Illinois  and  Iowa 
less  land  is  under  cultivation  to-day  than  fourteen  years  ago; 
many  important  counties  in  states  like  Ohio  are  producing 
less  food  than  they  did  before  the  Civil  War.  During  the  last 
census  period  population  in  the  United  States  increased  21 
per  cent,  but  agricultural  production  increased  10  per  cent 
only.  To  meet  an  increase  of  21  per  cent  in  the  number  of 
mouths  to  be  fed,  the  production  of  wheat  increased  only  3.8 
per  cent,  of  orchard  fruits  1.8  per  cent,  while  the  production 
of  corn  actually  fell  off  by  4.3  per  cent.  The  expert  of  the 
census  of  agriculture,  in  commenting  upon  the  situation, 
says: 

We  have  reached  a  stage  in  the  history  of  this  country  when 
farmers  in  average  years  do  not  produce  much  more  of  the  raw 
materials  used  for  food,  forage,  and  clothing  than  is  needed  within 
the  country.  In  poor  years  the  production  may  not  in  future  equal 
the  demands  of  the  consumers. 

And  while  production  has  remained  stationary,  the  market 
value  of  farm  products  has  practically  doubled;  while  the 
cities  are  filled  with  wailing  over  high  prices,  the  farmers  are 


32  ROBERT  W.   BRUERE 

jubilant!  Within  little  more  than  a  decade,  the  pre-emption 
of  the  "area  available  for  agricultural  purposes"  has  shifted 
the  balance  of  economic  control  from  the  cities  to  the  owners 
of  our  agricultural  lands. 

And  everywhere  the  farmers,  exhilarated  by  their  new 
sense  of  power,  are  in  revolt  against  the  traditional  barrenness 
of  agricultural  life.  Throughout  the  dominance  of  the  in- 
dustrial revolution  and  the  era  of  territorial  expansion,  they 
have  had  to  look  on  from  the  family  circle  while  the  cities  sat 
at  the  banquet-table  of  civilization.  But  their  position  no 
longer  compels  them  to  listen  passively  to  the  pastoral  flights 
of  uncalloused  after-dinner  speakers.  They  are  in  a  position 
to  demand  what  they  want.  They  want  homes  as  comforta- 
ble and  as  well  equipped  as  the  best  homes  in  the  cities;  they 
want  schools  that  conform  to  the  best  modern  standards; 
they  want  the  best  facilities  for  having  "a  good  time";  they 
want  music  and  art  and  the  drama:  they  want  their  full  share 
in  all  the  amenities  of  twentieth-century  civilization.  And 
if  they  cannot  get  what  they  want  in  the  country,  they  will 
turn  from  agricultural  production  to  speculation  in  land  over 
which  they  now  have  a  monopolistic  control,  and  move  to 
the  cities  to  get  it.  All  along  the  line  they  are  in  revolt,  and 
already  they  have  reason  to  wonder  at  the  swiftness  with 
which  their  rebellion  is  humbling  the  cities. 

For  it  is  from  the  cities  quite  as  much  as  from  the  farmers 
themselves  that  the  cry  for  scientific  agriculture,  soil  conser- 
vation, and  socialization  of  rural  life  is  coming.  It  is  city 
capital  that  is  sending  agricultural  experts  by  the  hundreds 
to  the  tradition-bound  fields  of  the  farmers.  It  is  city  capital 
that  is  promoting  country-life  conferences  with  their  increas- 
ing emphasis  upon  rural  credits  and  economic  cooperation. 
The  cities  are  quite  as  keen  as  the  farmers  for  the  establish- 
ment of  more  intimate  relations  by  the  extension  of  the  rural 
mail  and  the  parcels  post.  And  most  significant  of  all,  it  is 
principally  city  money  which,  through  the  country-life  depart- 


THE   RURAL   REFORMATION  33 

ments  of  the  Protestant  denominations  especially,  and  the 
"county  work"  of  the  Young  Men's  and  the  Young  Women's 
Christian  Associations,  is  supporting  the  men  and  women 
who  are  effecting  a  reformation  in  the  country  church  com- 
parable in  scope  and  depth  to  the  great  Reformation  of  Wyclif 
and  Hus  and  Luther. 

The  church  has  always  loomed  larger  in  country  than  in 
city  life.  The  city  church  has  been  overshadowed  by  the 
high-schools  and  universities,  the  newspapers  and  social 
settlements,  the  theaters,  scientific  museums,  the  ostentatious 
public  and  private  philanthropies.  But  the  pipes  to  which 
the  city  crowds  dance  have  echoed  but  faintly  in  the  open 
country.  Throughout  the  turmoil  of  the  nineteenth  century 
the  church  remained  the  dominant  social,  intellectual,  and 
spiritual  institution  of  rural  life. 

But  within  recent  years  the  country  church  has  seen  its 
easy  ascendancy  threatened  by  the  rivalry  of  the  same  secular 
forces  before  which  the  city  church  has  for  more  than  a  century 
retreated  as  before  a  conquering  enemy.  The  development 
of  the  rural  public-school  system,  the  spreading  influence  of 
the  state  universities  and  colleges,  the  "extension  work"  of 
the  state  and  federal  departments  of  agriculture,  the  traveling 
libraries,  the  automobile,  and  the  motion-picture  theaters 
have  brought  it  face  to  face  with  a  crisis  with  which  the  city 
church  failed  to  cope.  And  for  a  time  it  showed  a  disposition 
to  oppose  the  demands  for  a  fuller  life  arising  out  of  the  rural 
revolution,  as  the  city  church  had  opposed  the  "growth  of 
luxury  among  the  common  people"  arising  out  of  the  develop- 
ment of  invention  and  the  machine.  "The  weakness  of  the 
city  church,"  says  Professor  Fagnani,  of  the  Union  Theological 
Seminary,  "has  been  and  is  that  with  it  religion  is  religion 
and  not  life."  And  similarly  the  country  church,  instead  of 
losing  its  life  in  the  new  movement  in  order  that  so  it  might 
find  it,  began  by  railing  against  the  "Godlessness  of  the 
rising  generation,"  when  it  should  have  sought  the  cause  of 


34  ROBERT  W.   BRUERE 

its  waning  prestige  in  the  changing  wants  of  the  people  and 
its  own  failure  to  satisfy  them.  But  this  blind  policy  was 
proving  its  own  penalty;  the  countryside  was  being  strewn 
with  the  wreckage  of  abandoned  church  buildings.  And  the 
injury  was  not  to  the  church  alone.  As  the  central  institu- 
tion of  country  life,  the  failure  of  the  church  to  adjust  itself 
to  the  new  conditions  was  depriving  the  nation  of  its  most 
powerful  instrument  for  turning  the  rural  revolution  from 
selfish  into  patriotic  channels.  Fortunately,  before  the 
damage  had  become  irreparable,  the  country  church  de- 
veloped a  new  leadership,  which,  largely  financed  by  city 
capital,  is  reforming  its  methods  in  statesman-like  conformity 
with  the  spirit  of  the  times. 

The  essence  of  the  new  reformation  is  the  definite  abandon- 
ment of  authoritarian  dogmatism  and  the  candid  adoption 
of  the  open-minded  methods  of  modern  science.  In  the 
language  of  churchmen,  they  are  seeking  the  will  of  God,  not 
exclusively  in  the  threshed  straw  of  medieval  creeds  and 
scholastic  speculations,  but  primarily  in  the  scientifically 
ascertained  facts  of  contemporary  realities.  The  best  de- 
scription of  the  new  policy  is  contained  in  the  series  of  rural 
surveys  made  during  the  past  four  years  by  the  Department 
of  Church  and  Country  Life  of  the  Presbyterian  Church, 
undel"  the  general  supervision  of  the  Rev.  Warren  H. 
Wilson. 

The  Presbyterian  Church  in  the  United  States  [says  the  intro- 
duction to  the  survey  of  three  rural  counties  in  northern  Missouri] 
has  been  ministering  to  country  parishes  for  more  than  a  century. 
It  has  sought  farmers  through  forests  and  across  deserts.  It  has 
built  innumerable  little  white  churches  on  the  country  cross-roads 
for  them  to  worship  in.  It  has  baptized  the  farmer's  children, 
taught  them,  married  and  buried  them.  It  has  striven  to  save  the 
farmer's  soul  —  striven  earnestly,  valiantly,  sometimes  heroically. 

But  never  until  within  this  year  has  it  made  a  thorough  scien- 
tific study  of  the  country  community  it  has  attempted  to  serve.  It 
has  done  everything  in  its  power  to  pave  the  farmer's  road  to  the 


THE   RURAL   REFORMATION  35 

Celestial  City,  but  it  has  paid  little  attention  to  his  road  to  the 
nearest  village. 

It  has  given  great  sums  to  alleviate  poverty,  but  given  little 
thought  to  the  causes  that  make  for  poverty  —  the  American  sys- 
tem of  farm  tenantry,  the  robbing  of  the  soil,  and  the  stripping  the 
hillside  of  its  trees. 

It  has  pictured  the  beauties  of  the  heavenly  mansions  and  taken 
no  account  of  the  buildings  in  which  men  and  women  must  spend 
their  lives  here  and  now. 

Hereafter  it  is  going  to  know  something  about  the  communities  it 
attempts  to  serve  —  of  what  stuff  they  are  made,  v/hat  their  needs 
and  aspirations.  It  will  take  an  interest  in  the  every-day  affairs  of 
the  farmer  —  his  crops  and  stock,  his  buildings  and  machinery,  his 
lodge  and  recreation. 

The  spires  of  the  little  cross-road  church  will  still  point  to  the  skies, 
but  its  foot-stone  will  lie  on  the  commonplace  work  of  the  day. 

This  declaration  of  principle  is  as  radical  a  departure  from 
the  prevailing  policy  of  the  church  in  our  generation  as  the 
declaration  of  Luther  that  "a  Christian  man  is  a  most  free 
lord  of  all  things  and  subject  to  no  one"  was  from  the  autoc- 
racy of  the  medieval  hierarchy.  It  marks  the  end,  so  far  as 
the  followers  of  the  new  reformation  are  concerned,  of  the 
long  war  between  science  and  the  church.  And  wherever  it 
has  been  adopted  as  a  guide  to  action,  in  poor  lands  and  rich 
alike,  the  church  is  experiencing  a  renascence  of  constructive 
leadership  in  both  material  and  spiritual  things. 

In  the  course  of  a  recent  spring,  I  traveled  by  buggy  through 
the  poverty-stricken  fastnesses  of  the  north  Virginia  moun- 
tains. The  dogwood  and  the  crimson  Judas  trees  were  in 
bloom.  The  upward-winding  road  was  fragrant  with  sprout- 
ing fern,  its  banks  mottled  with  violets,  yellow  sorrel  bells, 
and  bloodroot  blossoms  —  soft  enamel  lilies  lustrous  against 
the  silvery  moss.  No  sharp  corners,  no  checker-board  thor- 
oughfares. But  the  houses  I  passed  in  my  long  climb  through 
the  Blue  Ridge  were,  for  all  their  isolation,  curiously  like  the 
shambling  tenements  I  knew  so  well  in  New  York,  East 
Boston,  South  Chicago,  and   North   St.   Louis.     Women  in 


36  ROBERT  W.   BRUERE 

drab  calicoes  stared  dumbly  from  ungarnished  kitchen  door- 
ways. Tousled  children  fled  shyly  down  the  road  and  hid  in 
thickets  and  behind  tumbling  stone  fences.  Men  with  rusty 
guns  went  by,  looking  oddly  like  the  men  in  the  urban  "bread 
line,"  except  for  a  vagrant  alertness  to  the  stir  of  wild  life  in 
the  brush. 

Through  Simmon's  Gap,  along  the  boulder-strewn  bed  of  a 
mountain  stream,  over  the  hump  of  a  crouching  hill,  down  a 
steep  path  broken  by  gullies  and  jutting  rock,  across  a  plowed 
field  and  a  half-stumped  clearing,  I  came  at  last  to  the  Blue 
Ridge  Industrial  School  and  the  home  of  the  Rev.  George  P. 
Mayo.  From  the  veranda  of  his  house  we  looked  across  a 
valley  dotted  with  orchards,  fields  of  young  grain,  and  soft, 
green  pastures.  Beyond  the  barns  and  the  brook  and  the 
meadow  to  the  north,  two  little  white  churches  confronted 
each  other  from  opposite  sides  of  a  road,  hke  pugilists  stripped 
for  a  fight. 

They  were  the  last  survivors  of  generations  of  sectarian 
warfare;  all  the  rest  had  gone  down  in  the  struggle.  And 
while  the  denominations  had  fought  one  another,  moonshine 
had  flourished  in  the  mountains,  children  had  been  born  out 
of  wedlock,  boys  and  girls  had  grown  up  innocently  dissolute. 
For  all  their  revival  meetings,  the  "needle's  eye"  had  remained 
as  an  open  door  compared  with  the  mountaineer's  chances  of 
entering  heaven  here  or  hereafter.  They  had  regularly  broken 
the  law  to  make  moonshine  whisky  because  they  wanted  life, 
and  whisky  was  the  only  way  they  knew  to  a  living.  Forty 
per  cent  of  them  had  remained  illiterate  because  whisky 
created  neither  the  desire  nor  the  necessary  economic  surplus 
for  schools.  They  had  made  a  virtue  of  dirt  and  disease  and 
immorality  because  the  only  semblance  of  spiritual  exaltation 
they  had  ever  experienced  came  from  the  momentary  thrills 
of  vice.  They  were  criminals  for  the  same  reason  that  the 
gangs  in  our  city  slums  are  criminals.  And  the  churches,  in 
the  intervals  of  mutual  recrimination,  preached  a  flat  and 


THE  RURAL   REFORMATION  37 

irrelevant  goodness,  ignoring  the  causes  of  the  general  poverty 
under  the  cloud  of  which  they  and  the  people  perished. 

This  was  the  situation  into  which  Mr.  Mayo  brought  the 
policy  of  the  new  reformation. 

"I  began,"  he  told  me,  "with  the  conviction  that  the 
day  of  doctrinal  controversy  is  over;  that  the  time  has 
come  for  the  church  to  give  an  accounting  of  her  steward- 
ship." 

The  day  before,  I  had  come  through  Shifflet's  Hollow,  the 
rugged  pocket  in  the  mountains  where  Mr.  Mayo  held  his 
first  charge.  I  had  seen  the  Settlement  House,  the  base  from 
which  during  eight  years  he  had  served  a  territory  stretching 
for  twenty  miles  along  the  eastern  slope  of  the  Greene  County 
range.  Adjoining  the  Settlement  House,  I  had  seen  the 
small,  well-equipped  hospital  where  scores  of  mountain  men, 
women,  and  children  had  had  their  first  experience  of  decent 
care  in  sickness.  Across  the  road,  I  had  seen  the  first  public 
school  ever  opened  in  the  region  —  built  with  church  money, 
but  operated  in  cooperation  with  the  state  Department  of 
Education.  And  high  up  the  mountain,  on  a  small  plot  of 
relatively  smooth  soil,  I  had  seen  the  demonstration  acres 
through  which  Mr.  Mayo  had  experimentally  learned  the 
agricultural  possibilities  of  the  mountains. 

The  outgrowth  of  those  scientific  tests  of  the  capacity  of 
both  the  soil  and  the  people  is  the  Blue  Ridge  Industrial 
School,  with  its  demonstration  farm  of  more  than  five  hundred 
acres;  its  sawmill  and  dairy;  its  dormitories,  class-rooms, 
workshops,  and  kitchens;  its  orchards  and  fields  for  every 
grain  and  grass  and  fruit  that  scientific  study  of  the  soils  and 
climate  has  shown  to  be  susceptible  of  profitable  cultivation. 
Possibly  the  most  striking  thing  about  that  splendid  church 
enterprise  is  the  absence  of  a  separate  church  building.  That 
has  been  left  to  the  last,  because  Mr.  Mayo  has  informed  the 
everyday  life  at  the  school  with  the  deepest' though  most 
unobtrusive  religious  spirit,  and  because  he  believes  that  the 


38  ROBERT  W.   BRUERE 

only  sound  basis  for  a  vital  church  to-day  is  the  spontaneous 
religious  emotion  of  a  happy  and  prosperous  people. 

During  the  afternoon  I  saw  fine  mountain  girls  baking 
bread  and  studying  poultry,  mountain  boys  harrowing  after 
the  plow  and  mending  tools  in  the  smithy.  And  morning 
and  evening  I  heard  them  singing  together  and  cooperating 
in  work  and  in  play  —  mountain  girls  who,  under  the  old 
dispensation,  might  have  been  mothers  at  fourteen,  whether 
married  or  not;  and  mountain  boys  who  would  have  become 
outlaws  in  the  barren  solitude  of  the  hills. 

And  through  the  children  Mr.  Mayo  is  trying  to  spread  the 
spirit  of  cooperation  and  mutual  aid  throughout  the  neigh- 
borhood. As  yet  he  is  not  advocating  church  unity  or  federa- 
tion, because  this,  he  fears,  would  only  serve  to  rekindle  the 
old  habit  of  interdenominational  strife.  "But,"  he  said  to 
me,  "if  we  are  not  yet  ready  to  get  together  inside  the  church, 
we  can  and  must  get  together  outside  the  church  as  human 
beings  and  citizens."  And  so,  while  administering  his  school, 
he  is  taking  the  lead  in  organizing  the  people  into  community 
associations  for  the  spread  of  the  telephone  —  the  harbinger 
of  the  new  neighborliness;  for  the  improvement  of  the  roads, 
the  study  of  markets,  cooperation  in  production,  buying,  and 
selling.  Every  one  in  Bacon's  Hollow  —  the  popular  name  for 
the  valley  —  is  gradually  coming  to  see  that  where  blue  grass 
grows  wild,  and  apples  will  ripen,  and  corn  and  wheat  will 
yield  abundantly,  ignorance  and  moonshine  and  crime  have 
no  providential  sanction;  that  physical  vigor  and  prosperity 
and  happiness  are  not  at  variance  with  the  will  of  God.  And 
the  people  are  gathering  in  unprecedented  number  to  Mr. 
Mayo's  support,  because  through  him  the  church  has  humbled 
itself,  to  be  reborn  in  the  spirit  of  science  and  to  win  its  claim 
to  leadership  by  the  concrete  quality  of  its  daily  human 
service. 

The  Blue  Ridge  Industrial  School  is  only  one  of  a  chain  of 
church    enterprises  —  largely   financed    with    city   capital  — 


THE  RURAL  REFORMATION  39 

that  is  being  stretched  through  the  southern  mountains  to 
meet  the  reproach:  "The  poor  ye  have  always  with  you." 
They  are  acting  as  a  sort  of  spiritual  middlemen  to  hitch  up 
the  farmers'  demand  for  more  life  with  the  cities'  demand  for 
more  food.  With  the  mountaineers  the  primary  problem  is 
the  elimination  of  poverty,  and  this  the  church  is  helping 
them  to  meet  by  the  development  of  a  community  social  and 
educational,  and  an  economic  programme  based  upon  scien- 
tifically ascertained  facts. 

And  the  same  method  is  proving  effective  in  the  fat  lands 
of  the  Middle  West,  though  there  the  problem  is  of  an  entirely 
different  character.  The  people  of  the  Corn-Belt  are  not 
crying  feebly  for  enough  to  eat  and  to  wear,  but  in  powerful, 
full-fed  voices  are  demanding  the  higher  satisfactions  of  life 
—  recreation  and  knowledge  and  art  —  and  they  are  demand- 
ing these  things  with  the  vigor  of  men  who  will  and  do  climb 
into  their  automobiles  and  speed  away  to  the  town  if  the 
mountain  of  civilization  will  not  come  to  them.  The  city- 
ward migration,  the  growth  of  tenant  farming,  land  specula- 
tion, and  absentee  landlordism  is  not  only  undermining  the 
ancient  authority  of  the  country  church,  but  is  responsible  for 
the  menace  to  the  national  food  supply. 

My  train,  swinging  up  into  Iowa  from  the  South,  found 
itself  on  a  limitless  level.  It  was  May,  and  the  corn,  which 
was  later  to  shoot  up  into  green  rockets  and  burst  into  tassels 
of  showering  gold,  was  just  being  planted.  Everywhere  men 
and  horses  dragged  slowly  back  and  forth,  pulverizing  the  rich 
brown  bareness  or  turning  under  the  eager  weeds  —  hungry 
tramps  to  be  beaten  back  again  and  again  that  the  coming 
corn  might  be  fed.  The  wheat  was  well  up  —  great  blankets 
of  vivid  green,  so  thick,  so  lush,  that  every  blade  shouldered 
its  neighbor  and  the  roots  stole  from  one  another.  The  fields 
lying  fallow  in  pasturage  were  alive  with  soft,  wabbly-kneed 
calves  and  the  twinkling  ears  of  tiny  mule-colts;  and  hundreds 
upon  hundreds  of  fat  little  red  or  black  shoats  scampered 


40  ROBERT  W.   BRUERE 

away  as  the  train  rushed  by.  Here  in  the  Corn  Belt  the 
prayer  for  daily  bread,  which  is  just  being  raised  in  the  Blue 
Ridge,  has  been  abundantly  fulfilled. 

"It  is  the  richest  land  on  God's  green  earth,"  said  a  grizzled, 
red-cheeked  farmer  leaning  affably  over  the  back  of  my  seat. 
"Rain  or  shine,  the  corn  crop  ain't  never  failed  in  loway. 
Prices  been  good?  Wal,  yes,  tol'ble;  but  I  don't  bother  so 
very  much  about  prices.  Where  does  my  money  come  from? 
That's  my  land  over  yonder  where  you  see  that  maple  wind- 
break. I  go  out  to  see  my  man  that  I  got  working  it  about 
every  month  or  so.  Forty  year  ago  when  I  come  out  here 
you  could  get  all  of  that  land  you  might  want  for  seven  dollars 
an  acre.  It's  worth  from  twenty  to  thirty  times  that  now. 
I  owned  a  thousand  acres  once,  but  I  sold  off  all  but  a  section 
and  moved  up  to  town.  My  man  he  works  it  on  half-shares. 
But  I  ain't  worrying  much  about  prices;  all  I  got  to  do  is 
just  to  sit  tight!" 

Sitting  tight  —  especially  after  moving  to  town  —  has 
come  to  be  an  immensely  popular  occupation  in  the  Corn 
Belt.  The  farmers  who  have  what  money  they  want  take 
the  shortest  cut  to  the  satisfactions  of  life,  secure  in  the 
knowledge  that  there  are  no  more  vast  "areas  available  for 
agricultural  purposes"  to  break  the  market  for  their  land. 
And  real-estate  speculation  and  farming  on  shares  have  such 
obvious  advantages  over  the  rough  work  of  plowing  and  sow- 
ing and  reaping!  Speculation  is  rife  throughout  the  Corn 
Belt  and  production  is  at  a  standstill.  In  Iowa,  for  example, 
there  were  11,578  fewer  farms  in  19 10  than  in  1900,  and 
406,353  fewer  acres  under  cultivation.  And  whereas  a  short 
while  ago  practically  all  of  the  farms  were  worked  by  their 
owners,  from  two-fifths  to  a  half,  and  in  some  sections  seventy 
per  cent  of  the  farms  are  worked  by  tenants,  who,  having 
a  one-year  lease,  are  compelled  to  rob  the  soil  to  get  a  living. 
The  effects  of  this  revolution,  both  upon  the  church  and  the 
nation,  are  described  as  follows  in  the  survey  of  forty-four 


THE  RURAL  REFORMATION  41 

rural    communities    in    Illinois    made    by    the    Presbyterian 
Church : 

Only  a  few  years  ago  this  region  was  entirely  farmed  by  the 
owners  themselves,  but  within  the  past  few  years  many  of  the 
owners  have  moved  to  the  cities  and  towns  or  sold  their  farms  to 
speculators,  until  now  fifty-three  per  cent  of  the  farms  are  run  by 
tenants.  These  tenants  have  generally  a  one-year  lease;  their  chance 
of  purchasing  land  is  very  small,  and  their  interest  in  the  commu- 
nity is  therefore  at  the  lowest  point. 

In  a  community  where  the  churches  are  struggling  hard  to  sur- 
vive, a  farmer  said  that  fifteen  years  ago  his  land  was  producing 
ninety  bushels  of  corn  per  acre;  now  it  is  producing  forty-eight. 
Then  it  was  worth  seventy-five  dollars  an  acre;  now  it  is  worth 
one  hundred  and  ninety  doUars  an  acre. 

The  speculative  price  of  land  kills  the  country  church.  The 
middle-IUinois  landlord  is  not  a  friend  of  the  improvement  of  the 
country  community.  In  many  cases  he  is  a  mere  absentee,  drawing 
rent  from  the  farm  he  owns,  and  caring  nothing  save  for  the  in- 
creasing of  his  rent  with  the  rising  price  of  land.  These  landlords 
should  be  called  to  account  by  the  churches. 

Owners  of  land  in  a  country  where  the  soil  is  producing  less  every 
year,  where  the  churches  and  schools  are  deteriorating,  where  the 
human  stock  is  being  exploited  and  an  American  peasantry  pro- 
duced, are  responsible  men.  Mere  evangelism,  with  talks  about 
saving  of  souls  and  promise  of  heavenly  life,  is  not  enough;  in  such  a 
situation  the  unlimited  promise  of  heavenly  salvation  is  false  to  the 
kingdom. 

In  self-defense,  the  Illinois  country  churches  will  be  forced  in  the 
future  to  promote  the  conservation  of  the  soil.  If  they  do  not  save 
the  soil,  they  will  lose  the  right  to  save  the  soul. 

There  is  a  refreshing  courage  about  this  indictment  of  the 
past  failure  of  the  church  by  a  churchman.  For  it  must  be 
remembered  that  the  deterioration  of  rural  life  here  described 
took  place  while  the  church  was  the  dominant  institution  in 
the  open  country.  The  development  of  absentee  landlordism 
is  in  large  measure  due  to  the  neglect  of  the  church  to  enter 
into  the  spirit  of  contemporary  realities  and  to  take  the 
leadership  in  creating  social  and  intellectual  conditions  in  the 
country  that  would  have  held  the  owners  upon   the  land. 


42  ROBERT  W.   BRUERE 

During  the  early  stages  of  the  rural  revolution,  the  church, 
instead  of  setting  an  example  of  cooperation  and  broadly 
humanitarian  patriotism,  followed  the  precedent  of  the  city 
church  in  concentrating  its  energies  upon  a  short-sighted 
effort  to  preserve  its  institutional  integrity.  Instead  of 
making  all  other  considerations  secondary  to  the  social, 
economic,  and  spiritual  advancement  of  the  rural  communities, 
it  fostered  a  petulant  selfishness  by  the  evil  example  of  its 
own  inter-denominational  strife.  The  Presbyterian  survey  of 
three  typical  agricultural  counties  in  Indiana  reveals  forty- 
one  denominations  quarreling  for  the  possession  of  a  popula- 
tion which  in  1900  numbered  eighty  thousand  souls,  but  which 
in  1910  had  dropped  to  seventy-six  thousand.  The  records 
of  232  churches  for  the  past  ten  years  show  38.6  per  cent 
growing,  13.6  per  cent  standing  still,  and  47.8  per  cent  losing 
ground  or  dead. 

"It  is  true,"  says  the  author  of  the  survey,  "that  many  of 
these  churches  need  to  die,"  because  many  of  them  were  built 
in  the  first  instance  to  despite  denominational  rivals,  not  to 
serve  either  man  or  God.  But  many  of  them  continue  to 
fail  because  they  place  their  entire  emphasis  upon  stupid 
denominational  bigotry.     As  the  survey  puts  it: 

Denominational  strife  shows  itself  in  various  ways.  At  its  worst 
it  may  be  seen  in  the  competition  of  two  or  more  churches  for  con- 
verts and  in  the  jealousy  of  one  church  over  the  success  of  others  in 
revival  meetings.  Three  such  churches  were  found  in  a  village  of 
seven  hundred.  The  Methodists  were  accused  of  proselyting.  The 
United  Brethren  were  censured  for  building  a  church  when  it  was 
neither  needed  nor  wanted.  Both  had  some  grievances  against  the 
Disciples.  One  of  the  ministers,  speaking  of  the  success  of  his  work, 
said:  "I  have  taken  in  113  members  in  my  three  churches  this  year, 
and  35  of  them  have  come  from  other  denominations."  A  certain 
inhabitant  of  the  village  ^  no  doubt  an  ardent  church  member  — 
said  that  "if  the  Methodist  church  were  on  fire,  and  if  he  should 
happen  to  pass  by,  and  if  there  were  a  bucket  of  water  standing 
near,  he  would  kick  the  bucket  over! " 


THE    RURAL    REFORMATION  43 

Is  there  reason  to  wonder  that  of  ninety-one  churches  in 
one  of  these  counties  twenty-five  have  not  a  single  young 
man  under  twenty-one  years  of  age  in  their  congregations? 
Such  conduct  on  the  part  of  an  institution  which  should  have 
been  the  leader  in  the  socialization  of  rural  morality  —  a 
course  upon  which  its  own  life  and  the  healthy  prosperity  of 
the  rural  community  depended  —  has  tended  to  aggravate 
the  worst  evils  attending  the  changing  rural  order.  The 
Indiana  survey  thus  summarizes  the  matter: 

The  influence  of  the  church  on  the  community  is  individualistic; 
that  is,  its  chief  care  is  for  individual  souls.  Few  churches  have  as 
their  mission  the  salvation  of  the  community.  The  saving  of  men 
for  heaven  is  much  emphasized  —  with  what  results  the  incident  of 
the  bucket  of  water  illustrates.  The  saving  of  men  for  Indiana  re- 
ceives little  emphasis.  The  saving  of  Indiana  for  men  receives  from 
the  churches  practically  no  emphasis  at  all. 

But  a  church  which  can  so  clearly  diagnose  its  own  malady 
is  not  likely  to  miss  a  cure.  In  the  Salt  River  parish  in 
Missouri,  the  churches  of  all  denominations  have  united  in  a 
plan  of  reorganization;  they  are  abandoning  superfluous 
churches  and  are  consolidating  weak  churches  of  one  denomi- 
nation with  weak  churches  of  another.  Certain  churches  in 
Pennsylvania  are  preaching  the  gospel  of  the  agricultural 
colleges,  realizing  that  their  own  future  is  bound  up  with 
better  farming.  In  the  middle  of  the  Corn  Belt  I  visited  a 
little  Baptist  church,  which  has  been  able  to  organize  the 
social  and  intellectual  life  of  the  open  country  about  it  so  that 
it  draws  members  from  the  nearest  towns  instead  of  losing  to 
them,  and  has  actually  succeeded  in  stemming  the  rising  tide 
of  tenant  farming.  The  people  there  are  prosperous,  the  land 
is  rich;  but  six  years  ago  seven  out  of  ten  farms  on  the  road 
on  which  the  church  stands  changed  hands  within  a  year,  and 
the  church  fell  into  decay.  Then  a  new  minister  was  sent  to 
them  who  had  in  him  the  spirit  of  the  new  reformation.  He 
began  by  gathering  the  people  of  the  neighborhood  into  a 


44  ROBERT    W.    BRUERE 

singing-club,  a  non-sectarian  form  of  amusement  which  the 
nearest  town  could  not  match.  Through  this  singing-club 
the  church  developed  literary  and  industrial  branches,  held 
picnics,  established  an  orchestra,  carried  through  a  fair, 
supported  a  lecture  course,  and  organized  an  inter-township 
school  contest  and  annual  athletic  meet.  These  were  new 
forms  of  religious  activity;  they  gave  the  people  a  better 
quality  of  amusement  than  they  could  get  in  the  nearest 
town,  and  the  fact  that  the  townspeople  came  out  to  their 
socialized  church  helped  to  show  them  how  valuable  it  was. 
There  is  something  interesting  going  on  all  the  time;  their 
imaginations  are  alive;  and  the  man  who  rents  his  farm  and 
goes  to  town  is  not  so  much  envied  as  blamed. 

"You'd  think  he'd  do  better  by  his  boys  than  to  leave  them 
hanging  around  Main  Street  all  the  time." 

"Look  at  how  his  land  is  getting  all  run  down  —  the  way 
his  renter  don't  manure  it." 

"He  may  not  have  much  to  do;  but  I  can't  see  what  he 
gets  out  of  living-  in  town." 

This  was  a  new  sort  of  comment,  directly  traceable  to  the 
fact  that  one  little  country  church  had  based  its  teaching  on 
the  holiness  of  this  world  and  made  life  interesting  by  feeding 
the  socially  hungry  and  cheering  the  intellectually  faint. 

On  the  June  Sunday  when  I  attended  service  at  this  church, 
the  automobiles  and  the  fine  horses  of  these  prosperous  farmers 
and  the  town  folks  from  six  miles  away  filled  the  carriage- 
sheds  and  monopolized  the  fence-posts.  And  the  congrega- 
tion, made  up  from  a  half-dozen  old-line  denominations,  filled 
the  flower-trimmed,  newly  painted  church  building  to  the 
very  doors.  No  one  had  preached  church  federation;  it  had 
come  about  spontaneously! 

Farther  north,  I  found  a  young  clergyman  who  had  organ- 
ized a  baseball  team  in  the  neighborhood,  on  which  he  was 
pitcher,  and  which  played  every  Saturday  afternoon,  to  the 
joy  of  the  whole  county.     In  Wisconsin  and  Dakota  there  are 


THE    RURAL    REFORMATION  45 

clergymen  who  have  organized  the  people  into  cooperative 
associations  for  buying  and  selling,  in  order  that  through 
cooperative  business  they  may  have  a  daily  practical  illustra- 
tion of  the  Golden  Rule.  In  the  country  town  of  Pine  Island, 
Minnesota,  I  attended  a  moving-picture  show,  run  in  the 
local  opera-house  by  the  board  of  directors  of  the  Methodist 
church.  As  the  pastor  explained  it,  the  theory  was  that  the 
young  people  and  the  isolated  farmers  of  the  district  must 
have  the  best  recreation  that  could  be  supplied. 

Such  church  activities  are  springing  up  in  spots  throughout 
the  open  country;  but  in  many  places  it  seems  easier  to  de- 
velop a  new  institution  to  meet  the  rising  demands  of  the 
farming  population  than  to  reform  the  stiff-necked  churches 
directly.  The  young  people  who  have  left  the  churches  of 
the  old  order  to  the  generation  that  grew  up  in  them  —  who, 
like  the  Chinese,  see  more  likeness  than  difference  between 
Baptists  and  Presbyterians,  and  have  not  acquired  rehgion 
through  the  revival  meeting  and  mourners'  bench,  but  have 
graduated  into  Christianity  from  the  Sunday-school  — 
cannot  be  brought  to  see  religion  in  sectarian  terms.  It  is 
because  the  Young  Men's  and  Young  Women's  Christian 
Associations  serve  the  purposes  of  the  rural  revolution  out- 
side of  denominational  lines,  that  they  are  proving  such 
valuable  aids  to  the  new  reformation.  The  idea  that  the 
Christian  exists  in  a  sort  of  social  vacuum  no  longer  obtains 
to-day. 

"It  makes  a  great  appeal  to  the  girls,"  a  worker  in  Red 
Wing,  Minnesota,  told  me  — ''the  idea  that  by  joining  the 
Y.  W.  C.  A.  they  come  in  touch,  not  only  with  the  girls  of  New 
York  and  San  Francisco,  but  of  India  and  China,  too." 

The  secretaries  of  the  rural  Y.  M.  C.  A.  declare  that  "the 
inherent  organization  germ  of  their  work  is  social,"  and  that 
their  programmes  include,  not  only  Bible  study  and  reli- 
gious meetings,  but  also  "practical  talks,  lectures,  educational 
classes,  agricultural  institutes  and  contests,  literary  and  de- 


46  ROBERT    W.    BRUERE 

bating  clubs,  boy  scouts,  athletics,  gymnastics  and  aquatics, 
summer  camps,  hikes,  educational  tours,  and  conferences." 

It  is  because  the  demands  of  the  revolting  farmers  include 
these  social  satisfactions  that  can  be  had  only  after  prosperity 
and  a  certain  intellectual  freedom  have  been  attained  that 
these  extra-denominational  associations  are  doing  such 
effective  work.  They  command  secretaries  of  special  training 
such  as  is  generally  outside  the  requirements  for  the  ministry. 
The  churches  accept  ministers  whose  preparation  varies  from 
a  bachelor's  degree  supplemented  by  a  theological  course  and 
an  assistant  pastorate  to  what  is  vaguely  called  "some  per- 
sonal religious  experience."  This  may  or  may  not  be  enough; 
but  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  takes  no  such  chances.  The  international 
secretary  says,  "It  is  not  sufJEicient  that  the  county  secretary 
should  be  a  successful  evangelist,  Bible  teacher,  or  executive." 
The  Association's  aim  is  to  provide  nothing  but  college  men, 
preferably  graduates  of  the  agricultural  colleges.  Is  it  not 
possibly  because  of  this  different  training  that  the  average 
salary  of  all  ministers  of  all  denominations  in  places  with  less 
than  twenty-five  thousand  inhabitants  is  $573  a  year,  while 
the  county  secretaries  can  and  do  command,  at  the  start, 
salaries  averaging  $1,400? 

The  leaders  in  the  new  reformation  are  reminding  the 
church  that  since  it  has  developed  a  paid  ministry,  society 
has  also  developed  a  utilitarian  civilization  and  has  grown  to 
expect  every  adult  male,  parsons  included,  to  earn  his  keep. 
They  are  urging  the  church  to  think,  not  in  terms  of  one  person 
at  a  time,  but  of  the  whole  social  body  at  once;  to  preach, 
not  a  religion  of  the  individual,  but  a  religion  of  the  social 
order.  They  are  meeting  with  opposition,  as  Wyclif  and  Hus 
and  Luther  met  with  opposition;  but  the  future  of  the  country 
church  is  with  them,  because  they  have  made  themselves  an 
essential  force  in  this  vitally  progressive  rural  revolution. 


PROBLEMS   OF   RURAL   SOCIAL  LIFE  ^ 

Thomas  Nixon  Carver 

No  other  problem  is  even  second  in  importance  to  that  of 
maintaining  the  native  quality  of  the  rural  population.  The 
rural  districts  are  the  seed  bed  from  which  even  the  cities 
are  stocked  with  people.  Upon  the  character  of  this  stock, 
more  than  upon  anything  else,  does  the  greatness  of  a  nation 
and  the  quality  of  its  civilization  ultimately  depend.  If  the 
native  vigor,  physical  and  mental,  of  the  people  should  decline, 
nothing  could  save  its  civilization  from  decay.  Not  even 
education  itself  can  permanently  arrest  such  decay  when  the 
inborn  capacity  to  be  educated  is  disappearing.  Every  horse- 
man believes  in  careful  training  as  a  preparation  for  racing, 
but  no  horseman,  no  matter  how  excellent  his  system  of 
training  might  be,  would  expect  to  maintain  or  improve  the 
speed  of  his  stable  if  he  bred  mainly  from  scrub  stock.  Nor 
should  any  country,  however  excellent  its  educational  system, 
expect  to  maintain  the  capacity  and  productive  efficiency  of 
its  people  if  the  most  capable  and  efficient  of  them  multiply 
least  rapidly,  and  the  least  capable  and  efficient  multiply 
most  rapidly. 

But  what  is  really  meant  by  capacity  and  productive  effi- 
ciency in  a  people?  There  is  a  story  of  an  aged  savage  who, 
having  lived  most  of  his  life  among  civilized  men,  returned 
in  his  old  age  to  his  native  tribe,  saying  that  he  had  tried 
civilization  for  forty  years,  and  that  it  was  not  worth  the 
trouble.  A  great  deal  of  the  philosophy  of  civilization  is  epit- 
omized in  this  story.     To  a  savage  mind  civilization  is  never 

^  Copyright.  Reprinted  by  permission  from  Principles  of  Rural  Eco- 
nomics, Ginn  and  Company,  publishers. 


48  THOMAS  NKON  CARVER 

worth  the  trouble,  for  the  reason  that  taking  trouble  is  dis- 
tasteful to  the  savage  mind.  Only  those  races  which  have 
the  capacity  for  taking  trouble,  or  to  whom  taking  trouble  is 
not  painful,  are  capable  of  becoming  civilized.  Civilization 
consists  largely  in  taking  pains.  To  some  people  it  is  too 
much  trouble.  They  prefer  to  remain  barbarians,  even  though 
they  live  in  civilized  surroundings.  Other  people  have  so 
much  mental  energy  that  they  do  not  mind  taking  pains; 
in  fact  they  rather  enjoy  it.  They  are  the  builders  of  our 
civilization.  Individual  genius  was  once  defined  as  the 
capacity  for  taking  infinite  pains.  The  genius  of  a  race  or  of 
a  nation,  and  its  capacity  for  civilization,  may  be  defined  in 
precisely  the  same  terms. 

Efficient  agriculture  requires  forethought,  planning  for 
next  year,  and  the  year  after,  and  the  year  after  that;  putting 
in  a  great  deal  of  careful,  painstaking  work  to-day,  with  no 
prospect  of  seeing  a  tangible  result  for  years  to  come;  looking 
after  an  interminable  number  of  details  day  by  day,  week  by 
week,  month  by  month,  and  year  by  year,  in  expectation  of 
returns  so  distant  in  the  future  as  to  lie  beyond  the  vision  of 
lesser  minds.  Only  the  men  or  the  races  which  possess  this 
kind  of  capacity  are  capable  of  efficient  agriculture  or  of 
efficient  industry  of  any  kind.  Whatever  other  admirable 
qualities  the  savage  may  possess,  —  and  he  may  possibly 
boast  superiority  over  the  civilized  man  in  many  respects,  — 
lacking  these  qualities,  he  will  remain  a  beaten  race.  Simi- 
larly, whatever  admirable  and  amiable  qualities  an  individual 
of  our  own  race  may  possess,  lacking  these  he  will  be  a  beaten 
man.  It  is  idle  for  either  a  race  or  an  individual  to  complain, 
or  to  say  that  in  some  other  kind  of  a  world  it  would  not  have 
been  beaten.  This  happens  to  be  this  kind  of  a  world,  and 
in  this  kind  of  a  world  it  happens  that  success  comes  to  those 
races  which  possess  in  the  highest  degree  the  economic  virtues 
of  industry,  sobriety,  thrift,  forethought,  reliability,  knowledge 
of   natural   laws,   and   mutual   helpfulness.     These   are   the 


PROBLEMS  OF   RURAL   SOCIAL  LIFE  49 

qualities  which  bring  success  to  a  race  or  a  nation,  and  the 
possession  of  these  qualities  constitutes,  therefore,  what  we 
call  capacity  and  efficiency.  We  may  persuade  ourselves  that 
we  like  other  qualities  or  people  who  possess  them,  but  nature 
pays  very  little  attention  to  our  likes  and  dislikes  in  such 
matters.  However  much  we  may  like  other  qualities,  the 
peoples  who  lack  these  qualities  will  fail;  and  however  much 
we  may  persuade  ourselves  that  we  despise  the  sober,  homely, 
economic  virtues,  the  peoples  who  possess  them  will  succeed 
and  eventually  dominate  the  world. 

The  problem  of  maintaining  the  capacity  of  the  rural 
population  for  civilization  will  depend  upon  two  questions: 
(i)  Is  it  the  most  or  the  least  capable  individuals  who  marry 
earliest  and  have  the  largest  families?  (2)  Is  it  the  most  or 
the  least  capable  individuals  who  leave  the  farms  and  migrate 
to  the  cities? 

Ideally  it  would  seem  as  though  the  most  capable  young 
men  should  arrive  first  at  a  position  of  independence,  where 
it  would  be  possible  to  marry  and  settle  down  to  the  work  of 
building  up  an  estate  and  a  family.  Where  social  ideals  are 
sound  this  is  doubtless  the  case;  but  where  they  are  unsound 
it  is  otherwise.  Where  the  social  ideals  are  such  that  it  is 
regarded  as  an  honorable  ambition  —  as  the  most  honorable 
ambition,  in  fact  —  to  found  a  family,  with  a  family  estate  to 
support  it,  or  to  perpetuate  a  family  already  honorably 
established,  and  to  maintain  its  standards  and  traditions,  the 
capable  young  men  will  be  guided  by  this  ideal,  and  the  most 
capable  of  them  will  succeed  best  in  realizing  it.  But  where 
the  end  and  aim  of  economic  life  centers  in  the  gratification 
of  the  senses  or  of  individual  vanity,  in  attracting  public 
notice  because  of  individual  achievement  in  fashionable 
society,  in  art,  literature,  or  scholarship,  or  in  any  other  of 
the  so-called  polite  pursuits,  the  family  ideal  is  lost  from 
sight.  Under  such  circumstances,  there  is  a  tendency  to 
look  upon  achievement  in  some  of  these  directions  as  an  end 


50  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

in  itself,  rather  than  as  a  means  of  family  building;  to  assume 
that  an  honorable  ambition  is  realized  when  success  along 
these  other  lines  is  attained,  regardless  of  the  fate  of  the 
family  ideal.  Such  perverted  social  ideals  are  likely  to  prove 
disastrous  to  the  race,  because  they  lead  the  capable  young 
men  and  women  to  follow  those  other  ambitions  and  to  aban- 
don that  of  the  family  builder. 

The  Family  Builder 

The  general  abandonment  of  the  ambition  of  the  family 
builder  will  prove  disastrous  to  the  race  for  several  reasons. 
In  the  first  place,  it  leads  capable  and  ambitious  young  men 
to  choose  their  wives  for  other  reasons  than  their  capacity  as 
mothers.  The  man  whose  ideal  of  life  centers  in  individual 
gratification  will,  if  he  is  successful  enough  in  an  economic 
sense  to  give  him  some  opportunity  for  choice  in  the  matter, 
choose  a  wife  on  the  ground  of  her  capacity  to  minister  to  his 
vanity  or  to  his  sensuahty;  to  choose  one,  for  example,  who 
will  help  him  in  fashionable  society,  whose  face  will  please  his 
fancy,  etc.  The  man  whose  dominant  ambition  is  to  found  a 
splendid  family,  or  to  achieve  immortality  by  leaving  behind 
him  a  family  of  capable  children,  well  trained  and  disciplined 
for  the  battle  of  life,  and  dominated  by  high  ideals  of  morality, 
patriotism,  etc.,  will  choose  a  wife  who  is  capable  of  helping 
him  to  achieve  that  ambition.  She  must  be  sound  physically 
and  capable  of  bearing  and  nursing  healthy  children;  she  must 
also  be  possessed  of  unusual  mental  power,  and  therefore 
capable  of  transmitting  that  mental  power  to  her  children ; 
and,  finally,  she  must  be  dominated  by  high  ideals  of  morality 
and  social  service,  in  order  that  she  may  give  her  time  and 
strength  unsparingly  to  the  task  of  training  her  children  for 
good  citizenship.  When  the  family-building  ambition  domi- 
nates the  people,  this  is  the  kind  of  woman  who  will  be  most 
sought  after  in  marriage,  who  will  least  frequently  remain 
unmarried  and  childless,  who  will  marry  earhest  and  therefore 


PROBLEMS  OF  RURAL   SOCIAL  LIFE  51 

have  the  longest  child-bearing  period,  and  who  will  get  the 
most  capable  and  vigorous  husbands,  and  therefore  bear  the 
most  capable  and  vigorous  children.  Where  different  ideals 
prevail,  a  different  type  of  woman  will  be  most  sought  after  in 
marriage.  Women  weaker  physically,  mentally,  and  morally 
may  satisfy  other  desires  better  than  the  type  just  described; 
consequently  the  stronger  type  of  women  will  be  more  likely 
to  remain  unmarried  and  childless,  or  to  marry  later  and 
therefore  have  a  shorter  child-bearing  period,  or  to  get  less 
capable  and  vigorous  husbands  and  therefore  bear  less  capable 
and  vigorous  children.  In  addition  to  all  this,  where  other 
than  the  family  ideal  dominates  marriage,  there  will  be  more 
childless  marriages. 

The  country  which  maintains  the  soundest  ideals  and 
ambitions  in  the  way  of  family  building  will  be  the  country 
peopled  with  the  strongest  and  most  capable  citizens.  The 
country  with  the  strongest  and  most  capable  citizenship  will 
be  the  strongest  and  the  most  prosperous  country.  Since 
the  citizenship  of  the  country  is,  in  the  end,  recruited  mainly 
from  the  rural  districts,  it  is  especially  important  that  sound 
ideals  should  predominate  there.  To  fail  in  this  respect  is, 
eventually,  to  fail  in  everything.  Therefore  there  need  not 
be  the  slightest  hesitation  in  saying  that  the  most  important 
ambition  which  can  be  cherished  in  the  country  is  the  ambi- 
tion of  every  capable  man  and  woman  to  found  or  perpetuate 
an  honorable,  capable,  and  vigorous  family.  The  aim  of 
successful  agriculture  should  be  to  enable  the  successful 
agriculturist  to  maintain  a  family  estate  for  the  support  and 
perpetuation  of  such  a  family.  Nothing  could  be  more 
disastrous  than  the  idea  that  successful  agriculture,  or  a  rich 
farm,  was  an  end  in  itself,  or  that  it  was  a  means  to  any  such 
end  as  sensual  gratification,  personal  vanity  or  ostentation, 
or  more  luxurious  ease. 


52  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

Rural  Migration 

Next  in  importance  to  the  character  of  the  family  ideal  as 
a  factor  in  race  building  is  the  character  of  rural  migration. 
If  it  should  happen  that  the  most  vigorous,  capable,  and  enter- 
prising youths  should  continually  leave  the  country  for  the 
city,  there  to  become  sterilized,  as  is  usually  the  case,  through 
the  pursuit  of  sensuality,  vanity,  or  false  ambition,  only  one 
result  would  be  possible.  The  less  vigorous,  capable,  and 
enterprising  youths  being  left  in  the  country,  there  to  marry 
and  bring  up  families,  and  the  same  process  of  selection  going 
on  generation  after  generation,  the  quality  of  the  rural  popula- 
tion would  inevitably  deteriorate.  This  would  happen  as 
certainly  as  it  would  if  a  horse  or  cattle  breeder  should  follow 
the  practice  of  selling  his  best  animals  and  keeping  the  inferior 
ones  for  breeding  purposes.  If  such  a  breeder  should  con- 
tinue this  practice,  he  would  eventually  have  no  first-rate 
animals  to  sell.  Similarly,  if  the  rural  population  should 
degenerate,  there  would  eventually  be  no  superior  men  and 
women  to  send  to  the  cities,  and  the  cities  themselves  would 
then  degenerate.  But  if  it  should  happen  that  the  best,  the 
strongest,  the  most  intelligent,  and  the  most  enterprising 
youths  should  stay  in  the  country,  and  the  inferior  ones  should 
be  sent  to  the  cities  to  be  sterilized  by  false  ambitions,  then 
it  would  follow  that  the  quality  of  the  rural  population  would 
improve.  So  long  as  the  rural  population  is  improving  there  is 
no  danger  of  national  decay  or  weakness,  or  of  a  decline  of  civili- 
zation. It  is  therefore  of  great  importance  that  the  farms  shall 
retain  at  least  their  fair  share  of  the  talent  of  the  country. 

In  order  that  young  men  and  women  of  talent  and  capacity 
may  be  induced  to  remain  on  the  farms,  rural  life  must  be 
made  attractive  to  them.  Farm  life  cannot  be  attractive  to 
such  men  and  women  unless  it  offers  opportunities  for  a  liberal 
material  income,  for  agreeable  social  life,  and  for  intellectual 
and  aesthetic  enjoyment. 


PROBLEMS  OF  RURAL   SOCIAL  LIFE  53 

An  Adequate  Income 

The  problem  of  securing  an  adequate  income  to  the  farmer's 
family  is  partly  a  problem  of  securing  an  adequate  supply  of 
land  and  capital  for  them.  There  is  very  little  in  the  peasant 
type  of  farming,  where  the  farmer  is  so  inadequately  supplied 
with  land  as  to  make  efficient  agriculture  impossible,  and 
where  even  machinery  and  good  teams  are  unprofitable,  to 
attract  men  and  women  of  high  spirit  and  enterprise.  This 
is  the  type  of  farming,  however,  which  would  be  forced  upon 
us  if  the  agricultural  population  should  increase  in  such  a 
way  as  to  bring  about  a  continuous  morcellement,  or  sub- 
division of  farms  into  smaller  and  smaller  units.  Such  an 
increase  in  the  number  of  the  rural  population  would  therefore 
inevitably  result  in  a  decline  in  its  quality,  because  such  petty 
farming,  being  unattractive  to  men  and  women  of  capacity 
for  larger  things,  would  drive  them  cityward  and  leave  in  the 
country  only  the  type  fitted  for  small  affairs. 

This  presents  a  phase  of  the  problem  of  rural  depopulation 
which  is  too  frequently  overlooked.  Where  the  decline  in 
numbers  comes  about  as  a  result  of  a  readjustment  of  agricul- 
tural methods,  it  may  be,  in  the  end,  a  good  thing.  Where 
the  farms  have  proved  too  small  for  the  most  efficient  agri- 
culture, and  where  therefore  the  owners  of  small  farms  find 
them  so  unprofitable  as  to  be  induced  either  to  buy  out  their 
neighbors  or  to  sell  out  to  them,  the  result  is  larger  farms  and 
a  smaller  number  of  farmers.  If  the  change  results  in  making 
farming  more  attractive  to  men  and  women  of  capacity,  and 
in  keeping  such  people  on  the  farms,  the  decline  in  numbers 
is  compensated  for  by  a  permanent  improvement  in  quality. 
They  who  believe  that  quality  is  more  important  than  quantity 
must  approve  the  change. 

Fortunately  the  transfer  of  land  is  so  easy  and  inexpensive 
in  this  country  as  yet,  especially  in  the  newer  states,  that 
there  are  no  serious  obstacles  in   the  way  of  this  process 


54  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

Where  the  farms  are  either  too  small  or  too  large  to  secure 
their  highest  value,  they  tend  to  be  combined  in  the  former 
case,  or  to  be  subdivided  in  the  latter,  until  they  approximate 
the  size  which  gives  them  greatest  value.  The  reason  why 
this  process  does  not  go  on  in  the  same  way  in  some  of  the 
older  countries  is  because  of  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of 
transferring  land.  The  long  history  of  a  given  title,  the  vast 
number  of  compUcated  legal  rights  and  claims  which  may  have 
accrued,  the  ridiculously  pious  care  with  which  even  the 
most  remote  rights  of  distant  relatives  are  guarded  by  the 
courts,  make  the  process  of  transferring  a  piece  of  land  a 
formidable  task. 

Where,  however,  rural  depopulation  results  in  the  sheer 
abandonment  of  the  land  and  allowing  it  to  go  to  waste,  the 
problem  is  somewhat  different.  Even  though  the  land  is  so 
poor  as  to  attract  only  a  poor  grade  of  farmers,  it  may  be 
better  to  have  it  occupied  by  a  low-grade  population  than  not 
to  have  it  occupied  at  all,  though  even  that  is  open  to  question. 
It  is  a  mistake  to  assume  that  all  unoccupied  land  is  going  to 
waste.  In  New  England  it  speedily  grows  up  to  timber,  and 
in  some  cases  that  is  the  most  productive  use  to  which  land 
can  be  put.  The  essential  thing  to  remember  is  that  a  dense 
agricultural  population,  if  that  density  means  a  small  income 
per  family,  invariably  means,  under  modern  conditions,  a 
low-grade  population,  because  men  and  women  of  spirit  and 
capacity  will  not  stay.  They  will  leave  the  country  districts 
in  the  possession  of  people  who  can  do  no  better  anywhere 
else,  and  who  are  therefore  content  to  remain  and  accept  a 
low  standard  of  living.  But  a  relatively  sparse  population, 
if  it  means  a  large  income  per  family,  will  generally  mean  a 
high-grade  population,  because  such  conditions  will  help  to 
attract  and  hold  men  and  women  of  spirit  and  capacity.  If 
we  once  understand  this,  we  shall  not  be  alarmed  over  a  decline 
in  the  rural  population  until  we  know  the  reasons  and  the 
results. 


PROBLEMS   OF  RURAL   SOCIAL  LIFE  55 

Still  more  important  as  a  means  of  securing  adequate 
incomes  for  intelligent  farmers  is  the  existence  and  accessi- 
bility of  exact  scientific  knowledge  to  those  who  have  the 
capacity  to  acquire  and  apply  it.  Our  agricultural  colleges, 
the  experiment  stations,  and  the  agricultural  literature  which 
they  are  pubhshing  and  distributing,  all  combine  to  give  to 
the  farmer  of  intelligence  a  higher  differential  advantage  over 
the  ignoramus.  Only  the  man  of  intelligence  is  capable  of 
understanding  and  applying  the  results  of  scientific  study  and 
experiment.  He  is  the  man  who  will  profit  most,  therefore, 
and  who  will  in  the  end  be  able  to  buy  out  his  ignorant  neigh- 
bor and  send  him  off  to  town  to  work  under  a  boss.  Such  an 
improvement  in  our  rural  population  augurs  well  for  the 
future  of  the  republic. 

An  Agreeable  Social  Life 

Quite  as  important  as  the  question  of  an  adequate  income 
is  that  of  an  agreeable  social  life  as  a  means  of  attracting  a 
superior  type  of  men  and  women  to  the  farms.  Few  people 
realize  how  much  more  dependent  the  farmer  is  than  any  one 
else  upon  his  social  surroundings.  A  business  man  in  the 
city  can  choose  his  neighbors  without  changing  his  place  of 
business,  for  the  reason  that  his  residence  and  his  place  of 
business  are  entirely  disconnected.  If  he  does  not  like  one 
neighborhood  as  a  place  of  residence  and  a  place  in  which  to 
bring  up  his  family,  he  can  move  to  another  without  disturb- 
ing his  business  relations.  The  farmer  must  live  on  his  farm 
and  must  bring  up  his  children  there.  Whatever  the  social 
surroundings  of  the  neighborhood  are,  he  must  accept  them 
or  else  sell  out  and  move,  thus  upsetting  all  his  business  rela- 
tions and  hazarding  his  business  prosperity  on  the  chance  of 
improving  his  social  relations.  Again,  the  man  in  the  city  is 
usually  within  easy  reach  of  a  great  variety  of  schools, 
churches,  and  other  social  agencies.  If  one  does  not  suit 
him,  he  can  make  use  of  another  without  great  inconvenience. 


56  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

In  the  country,  where  all  such  things  are  farther  apart,  it  would 
ordinarily  be  a  great  inconvenience  to  send  his  children  to  any 
other  school  than  the  one  belonging  to  his  own  district,  or  to 
take  his  family  to  another  church  than  one  of  those  of  the 
neighborhood.  Again,  even  though  the  city  man  does  not 
choose  his  place  of  residence  wisely,  he  is  not  dependent  upon 
his  neighbors  for  his  social  life.  Where  the  neighborhood 
idea  does  not  prevail,  as  it  usually  does  not  in  the  city,  one 
may  ignore  his  own  neighbors  and  still  have  an  agreeable 
social  life  among  the  members  of  his  class,  trade,  occupation, 
or  club.  This  is  probably,  in  the  end,  a  vicious  tendency,  but 
it  does,  at  any  rate,  help  to  make  the  city  man  relatively 
independent  of  the  social  conditions  of  his  immediate  neigh- 
borhood. But  the  farmer  cannot  pick  and  choose  in  this  way. 
Perhaps  it  is  well  that  he  should  not,  but  this  at  least  shows 
that  he  is  dependent  upon  his  neighborhood.  As  a  result  of 
this  dependence  he  is  compelled,  more  than  any  other  class  of 
men,  to  take  an  interest  in  neighborhood  affairs.  The  safety 
and  well-being  of  his  own  family  depend  upon  his  having  good 
neighbors  and  good  moral  and  social  conditions  within  his 
neighborhood.  This  is  doubtless  a  good  thing  in  the  end, 
because  it  forces  him,  if  he  is  interested  in  his  family  and  the 
future  careers  of  his  children,  to  give  time  and  energy  to  the 
work  of  neighborhood  improvement.  But  temporarily  it  may 
be  a  hardship  to  the  man  of  clean  habits  and  sound  principles,  be- 
cause, before  he  can  get  the  neighborhood  cleaned  up,  his  family 
may  have  suffered  from  the  lack  of  a  wholesome  social  life. 

Whatever  may  be  said  upon  that  point,  it  can  scarcely  be 
denied  that  the  farmer,  more  than  any  one  else,  has  reason 
to  take  an  active  interest  in  the  local  church,  the  school,  the 
grange,  the  library,  local  sports,  and  every  other  agency  which 
may  contribute  to  the  social  life  of  the  neighborhood.  If  he 
allows  these  things  to  degenerate,  it  will  profit  him  little  to 
have  come  into  possession  of  broad  acres,  to  have  grown  big 
crops,  and  to  have  built  big  barns  to  hold  them. 


PROBLEMS  OF  RURAL  SOCIAL  LIFE  57 

The  Country  Church 

Among  the  agencies  for  the  building  up  of  a  wholesome 
social  life  in  the  country  the  rural  church  deserves  first  men- 
tion; if  for  no  other  reason,  because  it  is  the  oldest.  Un- 
fortunately there  has  been  a  close  parallelism  between  the 
practices  of  the  rural  churches  in  America  and  the  type  of 
agriculture  which  has  prevailed.  In  the  pioneering  stage 
agriculture  has  consisted  mainly  in  harvesting  the  soil,  and 
very  little  attention  has  been  paid  to  soil  building.  Similarly, 
the  pioneering  churches  have  too  generally  followed  the  plan 
of  harvesting  a  membership  by  revivalistic  methods  and  have 
given  too  little  attention  to  membership  building.  A  certain 
pioneer  preacher,  of  picturesque  fame,  was  once  reported  to 
have  opposed  the  education  of  men  for  the  ministry  on  the 
ground  that  there  were  plenty  of  well-educated  men  to  be 
had,  and  if  the  Lord  wanted  an  educated  minister  all  he 
needed  to  do  was  to  seize  upon  one  of  these  educated  sinners 
and  shake  him  over  the  pit  until  he  came  to  his  senses  and 
agreed  to  preach  the  gospel.  Fortunately  this  argument  did 
not  prevail;  but  it  has  looked,  at  times,  as  though  some  of 
the  more  popular  churches  have  relied  upon  a  similar  policy  for 
the  recruiting  of  their  membership.  They  seem  to  have  relied 
more  upon  the  making  of  converts  from  among  mature  repro- 
bates than  upon  the  training  of  successive  generations  of  boys  and 
girls  into  good,  mutually  helpful  neighbors;  into  productive, 
efficient,  prosperous  farmers;  in  short,  into  good  substantial 
citizens  such  as  build  up  a  community,  increase  the  productivity 
of  its  farms,  and  make  it  a  desirable  place  in  which  to  live. 

However,  things  are  improving  in  one  respect  at  least,  and 
the  pioneering  stage  of  church  activity  is  giving  way  to  a  more 
permanent  and  constructive  form  of  church  activity.  The 
transition  period,  however,  is  a  critical  one,  and  in  many  cases 
there  appears  to  be  an  inability  on  the  part  of  the  country 
church  to  live  through  it. 


58  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

One  serious  danger,  against  which  the  warning  cannot  be 
made  too  strong,  is  the  snare  of  a  sentimental  type  of  spiritu- 
ahty,  a  kind  of  spirituality  which  wastes  itself  in  mere  aesthetic 
or  emotional  enjoyment  —  a  kind  of  spiritual  Sybaritism. 
The  church  which  yields  to  this  temptation,  and  cultivates  a 
form  of  religious  emotionalism  as  an  end  in  itself,  will  fail; 
and  it  will  deserve  to  fail  because  it  will  be  of  no  use  to  its 
members  or  to  the  world.  The  church  which  realizes  that  its 
spirituality  must  meet  the  practical  test  of  productivity; 
that  its  members  must  be  made  better  farmers  and  better 
citizens  generally  by  reason  of  their  spirituality;  that  the 
more  religious  they  are  the  better  crops  they  will  grow,  the 
better  stock  they  will  keep,  the  better  care  they  will  give  it, 
and  the  better  neighbors  they  will  be,  is  the  church  which  will 
deserve  to  succeed  and  in  the  end  will  succeed. 

It  may  be  laid  down  as  a  general  law  of  rural  economy  that 
the  productive  land  in  any  farming  community  will  tend  to 
pass  more  and  more  into  the  hands  of  those  who  can  cultivate 
it  most  efficiently,  —  that  is,  into  the  hands  of  the  most 
efficient  farmers,  —  unless  it  is  prevented  from  doing  so  by 
some  kind  of  military  force  exercised  by  an  aristocratic  ruling 
class,  or  by  an  expensive  and  cumbersome  system  of  trans- 
ferring land  titles.  In  a  democratic  country  like  the  United 
States,  where  there  are  few  impediments  in  the  way  of  the 
free  transfer  of  land,  we  need  look  for  nothing  else.  The 
men  who  can  make  the  land  produce  the  most  will  be  able  to 
pay  the  most  for  it,  and  in  the  end  they  will  get  it  and  hold 
it.  This  looks  simple  enough,  no  doubt,  and  may  not  at 
first  seem  to  signify  much,  but  it  is  weighted  with  consequences 
of  the  most  stupendous  and  far-reaching  character,  —  conse- 
quences which  it  would  be  suicidal  for  the  church  to  ignore. 

It  means  simply  and  literally  that  the  rural  districts  are 
never  to  be  thoroughly  Christianized  until  Christians  become, 
as  a  rule,  better  farmers  than  non-Christians.  If  it  should 
happen  that  Christians  should  really  become  better  farmers 


PROBLEMS  OF  RURAL  SOCIAL  LIFE  59 

than  non-Christians,  the  land  will  pass  more  and  more  into 
the  possession  of  Christians,  and  this  will  become  a  Christian 
country,  at  least  so  far  as  the  rural  districts  are  concerned. 
The  first  result  would  probably  be  to  paganize  the  cities,  since 
the  non-Christians  displaced  from  the  rural  districts  by  their 
superior  competitors  would  take  refuge  in  the  towns.  But 
since  nature  has  a  way  of  exterminating  town  populations  in 
three  or  four  generations,  and  the  towns  have  therefore  to  be 
continuously  recruited  from  the  country,  the  Christianizing 
of  the  rural  districts  would  eventually  mean  the  Christianizing 
of  the  towns  also.  But,  vice  versa,  if  non-Christians  should 
become  the  better  farmers,  by  reason  of  some  false  philosophy 
or  supercilious  attitude  toward  material  wealth  and  economic 
achievement  on  the  part  of  the  church,  then  this  would  even- 
tually become  a  non-Christian  country  for  the  same  reason. 

But  if,  as  a  third  possibility,  there  should  be  no  perceptible 
difference  between  Christians  and  non-Christians  as  to  their 
knowledge  and  adaptability,  or  as  to  their  general  fitness  to 
survive  and  possess  the  earth,  —  fitness,  that  is,  as  determined 
by  nature's  standard  rather  than  by  some  artificial  standard 
of  our  own  devising,  —  the  result  would  be  that  Christians 
would  remain  indefinitely  a  mere  sect  in  the  midst  of  a 
non-Christian  or  nondescript  population.  The  only  way  of 
avoiding  this  rather  unsatisfactory  situation  would  be  to  force 
the  whole  population  into  a  nominal  Christianity  by  military 
force.  But,  assuming  that  physical  force  is  not  to  be  used, 
and  that  the  ordinary  economic  forces  are  to  operate  undis- 
turbed by  such  violent  means,  then  the  contention  will  hold. 
This  is  what  is  likely  to  happen  if  certain  religious  leaders 
should  succeed  in  identifying  Christianity  with  millinery, 
with  emotionalism,  with  abstract  formulas  respecting  the 
invisible  world,  or  with  mere  loyalty  to  an  organization, 
rather  than  with  rational  conduct.  By  rational  conduct  is 
meant  that  kind  of  conduct  which  conserves  human  energy 
and  enables  men  to  fulfill  their  mission  of  subduing  the  earth 


6o  THOMAS   NIXON  CARVER 

and  ruling  over  it,  which  enables  them  to  survive  in  the 
struggle  with  nature.  This  is  the  essence  of  all  genuine 
morality. 

If  the  significance  of  this  law  is  once  clearly  understood, 
there  is  little  danger  that  the  church  will  make  the  wrong 
choice  or  hesitate  long  in  making  the  right  one.  It  v/ould  at 
once  decide  to  make  better  farmers  of  its  rural  members  than 
non-members  can  possibly  become,  since  non-members  would 
lack  the  stimulating  influences  which  go  with  membership. 
The  only  danger  is  that  the  churches,  some  of  them  at  least, 
will  fail  to  see  the  point,  or  refuse  to  see  it,  and  continue  to 
hug  the  delusion  that  they  are  under  the  guidance  of  a  higher 
power  than  political  economy,  and  may  therefore  safely 
ignore  its  laws.  That  would  be  a  delusion,  because  a  law  is 
a  law,  and  the  words  higher  and  lower  have  no  application. 
To  believe  that  there  may  be  a  conflict  between  divine  law 
and  physical  law,  or  between  divine  law  and  economic  law,  is 
to  believe  that  this  is  an  irrational  universe,  at  war  with 
itself.  Moreover',  we  must  form  our  conclusions  as  to  the  will 
of  God  and  the  duty  of  man  on  the  basis  of  the  observed  facts 
and  uniformities  of  the  world  of  actual  experience;  and  the 
laws  of  political  economy  are  among  these  observed  uni- 
formities. Our  only  way  of  knowing  that  we  are  in  tune 
with  the  Infinite  is  by  observing  that  we  are  in  tune  with  the 
finite;  and  we  cannot  possibly  be  in  tune  with  the  finite  unless 
we  act  in  harmony  with  known  physical  and  economic 
laws. 

There  may  be  some  excellent  people  who  hold  that  it  should 
not  be  the  mission  of  the  church  to  make  good  farmers,  but 
to  convert  to  Christianity  those  who  are  already  good  farmers. 
Reliance  upon  the  process  of  conversion  may  appeal  to  some 
as  the  right  policy  for  the  church  to  pursue;  but  unless 
conversion  means  increased  efficiency,  greater  adaptability, 
greater  fitness  for  the  struggle  for  existence,  better  conserva- 
tion of  human  energy,  the  church  can  scarcely  hold  the  ground 


PROBLEMS   OF  RURAL   SOCIAL  LIFE  6i 

which  it  wins  by  that  process,  but  will  be  continually  losing 
ground  through  economic  competition  with  the  more  efficient 
non-Christians. 

But  if  this  is  a  rational  universe,  must  we  not  conclude 
that  any  religion  or  any  religious  movement,  however  attract- 
ive it  may  seem,  is  proved  a  false  religion  or  a  misdirected 
religious  movement,  which  does  not  increase  the  capacity  of 
its  followers  to  control  the  forces  of  nature,  to  dominate  the 
earth  and  to  rule  over  it,  which  does  not  increase  their  adapta- 
bility, which  does  not  make  the  nation  which  adopts  it  a 
prosperous  nation?  Conversely,  must  we  not  conclude,  assum- 
ing still  a  rational  universe,  that  that  is  a  true  religion  which, 
if  adopted  by  a  whole  community  or  a  whole  nation,  would 
increase  the  adaptability  of  that  community  or  that  nation 
and  enable  it  to  subjugate  the  earth  and  to  outgrow  both  in 
power  and  wealth,  in  comfort  and  prosperity,  the  nation  which 
does  not  adopt  it?  The  alternative  to  this  conclusion  would 
seem  to  be  to  fall  back  upon  the  concept  of  an  irrational 
universe,  on  the  belief  that  this  world  is  Satan's  world,  in 
conflict  with  God's  law,  instead  of  God's  world  in  harmony 
with  itself. 

This  doctrine  is  not  so  revolutionary  as  it  may  seem.  In- 
deed, it  is  so  old-fashioned  as  to  be  positively  reactionary, 
and  that  is  why  it  may  seem  new  and  revolutionary  to  those 
who  have  forgotten  certain  old  truths.  If  it  be  correct  to 
say  that  the  rural  districts  will  become  Christianized  only  in 
proportion  as  Christians  become  better  farmers  than-  non- 
Christians,  it  must  also  be  true  that  whatever  permanent 
success  the  rural  church  has  had  in  the  past  has  been  due  to 
the  same  reason,  except  where  force  or  some  other  non-economic 
factor  has  intervened.  Such  is,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  case. 
In  spite  of  the  emphasis  of  the  church  upon  spirituality,  or 
because  of  its  emphasis  upon  a  sane  and  wholesome  kind  of 
spirituality,  men  have  usually  become  better  farmers  under 
its  influence.     For,   along   with   certain   formalities  of  belief 


62  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

and  conduct,  there  has  generally  been,  for  one  reason  or 
another,  considerable  emphasis  upon  the  plain  economic 
virtues  of  industry,  sobriety,  thrift,  forethought,  and  mutual 
helpfulness.  Wherever  there  has  been  a  pure  and  elevated 
type  of  Christianity,  there  Christians  have  exhibited  these 
virtues  in  somewhat  greater  degree  than  non-Christians. 
This  simply  means  that  they  have  wasted  less  of  their  energy 
in  vice,  dissipation,  brawling,  or  in  riotous  living,  than  their 
non-Christian  neighbors.  Economizing  their  energy,  they 
were  able  to  prevail  over  those  who  wasted  theirs.  Some- 
times, however,  war  and  persecution  have  been  resorted  to, 
to  check  this  economic  growth.  At  other  times  Christians 
themselves  have  resorted  to  these  non-economic  methods  of 
gaining  ground.  But  where  economic  forces  have  been  allowed 
to  work  unhindered,  and  where  Christianity  has  been  of  a 
type  worth  preserving,  there  it  has  grown  strong  by  reason  of 
these  economic  forces  alone,  and  it  has  not  needed  to  appeal 
to  physical  force  or  to  the  state  to  spread  itself. 

But  is  not  agricultural  competition  itself  a  form  of  war? 
Certain  misinformed  philosophers  have  fallen  into  the  habit 
of  saying  so.  There  is  this  difference.  In  war  success  de- 
pends upon  the  power  and  the  willingness  to  destroy.  In 
agriculture  success  depends  upon  the  power  and  willingness 
to  produce.  In  war  they  win  who  inflict  the  greatest  pain 
and  injury.  In  agriculture  they  win  who  render  the  greatest 
utility  or  service;  and  to  a  sober  mind  this  must  appear  to  be 
a  real  difference. 

But  why  confine  these  observations  to  agriculture  and 
rural  economy?  Are  not  the  conditions  of  economic  success 
the  same  in  the  city  as  in  the  country?  And  must  not  religion 
prevail  over  irreligion  in  the  city  as  well  as  in  the  country, 
provided  religion  secures  a  greater  conservation  of  human 
energy  than  does  irreligion?  In  a  certain  very  broad  sense, 
or  in  the  long  run,  —  with  a  great  deal  of  emphasis  on  the 
word  "long,"  —  that  is  probably  true.     But  the  conditions 


PROBLEMS  OF  RURAL  SOCIAL  LIFE  63 

of  individual  economic  success  in  cities  are  so  complex,  and 
there  are  so  many  opportunities  for 

ways  that  are  dark 
And  for  tricks  that  are  vain, 

as  to  obscure  though  not  to  obliterate  entirely  the  working  of 
this  law  under  which  success  depends  upon  productive  service. 
In  agriculture  one  must  wrest  a  living  from  nature,  and 
nature  cannot  be  tricked  or  deluded.  But  a  large  element  of 
our  city  populations  — ■  and  generally  they  are  the  dominant 
element  —  get  their  living  out  of  other  people;  and  people 
are  easily  deceived.  Instead  of  laboring  to  make  two  blades 
of  grass  grow  where  one  had  grown  before,  their  business  is 
to  make  two  dollars  emerge  from  other  people's  pockets  where 
one  had  emerged  before.  Neither  impudence,  nor  a  smooth 
tongue,  nor  a  distinguished  manner,  nor  lurid  rhetoric  ever 
yet  made  an  acre  of  land  yield  a  larger  crop  of  grain;  but 
they  have  frequently  made  an  office,  a  sanctum,  a  platform, 
and  even  a  pulpit  yield  a  larger  crop  of  dollars.  They  who 
get  their  living  out  of  other  people  must,  of  necessity,  interest 
those  other  people;  and  men  are  so  constituted  that  queer 
and  abnormal  things  are  more  interesting  to  them  than  the 
usual  and  the  normal.  They  will  pay  money  for  the  privilege 
of  seeing  a  two-headed  calf,  when  a  normal  calf  would  not 
interest  them  at  all.  The  dime-museum  freak  makes  money 
by  showing  to  our  interested  gaze  his  physical  abnormalities. 
He  is  an  economic  success  in  that  he  makes  a  good  living  by 
it,  but  it  does  not  follow  that  he  is  the  type  which  is  fitted  to 
survive,  or  which  religion  ought  to  try  to  produce.  Other 
men,  going  under  the  names  of  artists,  novelists,  or  dramatists 
of  certain  nameless  schools,  make  very  good  livings  by  reveal- 
ing to  interested  minds  their  mental  and  moral  abnormalities. 
They,  like  the  dime-museum  freaks,  are  economic  successes 
in  that  they  make  good  livings,  but  it  does  not  follow  that 
they  are  the  type  of  man  fitted  to  survive,  or  that  religion 


64  THOMAS  NIXON   CARVER 

ought  to  try  to  produce.  This  type  of  economic  success  is 
an  urban  rather  than  a  rural  one,  and  it  flourishes  under 
urban  rather  than  rural  conditions.  So  long  as  it  flourishes 
there  is  no  reason  why  religious  men  who  conserve  their 
energies  for  productive  service  should  succeed  in  crowding 
them  out  of  existence.  The  only  chance  of  attaining  that 
end  will  be  for  religion  to  give  people  a  saner  appreciation  of 
things,  teach  them  to  be  more  interested  in  normal  calves 
than  in  two-headed  calves,  in  normal  men  than  in  dime- 
museum  freaks,  in  sane  writers  than  in  certain  degenerate 
types  now  holding  the  attention  of  the  gaping  crowd.  If 
this  can  be  brought  about,  then  it  will  result  that  the  religious 
type  of  man,  even  in  cities,  will  more  and  more  prevail  over 
the  irreligious,  provided  the  religion  itself  is  worth  preserv- 
ing, —  that  is,  provided  it  becomes  a  positive  factor  in  the 
conservation  of  human  energy. 

As  has  already  been  suggested,  there  is  a  great  deal  more 
involved  in  the  making  of  a  good  farmer  than  in  the  teaching 
of  scientific  agriculture.  Mr.  Benjamin  Kidd,  in  his  Social 
Evolution,  has  done  well  to  emphasize  the  importance  of  moral 
qualities  as  compared  with  intellectual  achievements.  In 
the  first  place,  intellectual  achievements,  or  their  results,  can 
only  be  utilized  where  there  is  a  sane  and  wholesome  morality 
as  a  basis.  In  the  second  place,  the  results  of  the  intellectual 
achievement  of  one  race  or  of  one  man  may  be  borrowed  freely 
by  the  rest  of  the  world,  provided  the  rest  of  the  world  have 
the  moral  qualities  which  will  enable  them  to  profit  by  so 
doing;  whereas  moral  qualities  cannot  be  borrowed  from  one 
race  by  another.  Japan,  for  example,  could  easily  borrow 
from  European  nations  the  art  of  modern  warfare,  together 
with  its  instruments  of  destruction;  but  she  did  not  borrow, 
and  could  not  borrow,  that  splendid  courage  and  discipline 
which  enabled  her  to  utilize  so  efficiently  the  inventions 
which  she  borrowed.  So  one  nation  can  easily  borrow  farm 
machinery  and  modern  methods  of  agriculture,  but  it  cannot 


PROBLEMS  OF  RURAL   SOCIAL  LIFE  65 

borrow  the  moral  qualities  which  will  enable  it  to  profit  by 
them.  Saying  nothing  of  mental  alertness  and  willingness  to 
learn,  which  might  be  classed  as  mental  rather  than  moral, 
it  could  not  borrow  that  patient  spirit  of  toil,  nor  that  sturdy 
self-reliance,  nor  that  stern  and  unrelenting  sense  of  duty, 
nor  that  forethought  which  sacrifices  present  enjoyment  to 
future  profit,  nor  that  spirit  of  mutual  helpfulness,  all  of 
which  are  essential  to  any  effective  rural  work.  Again,  a 
nation  cannot  easily  borrow  a  sane  and  sober  reason,  a  willing- 
ness to  trust  to  its  own  care  in  preparing  the  soil  rather  than 
to  the  blessing  of  the  priest  upon  the  fields;  nor  can  it  borrow 
a  general  spirit  of  enterprise  which  ventures  out  upon  plans 
and  projects  which  approve  themselves  to  the  reason.  And, 
finally,  it  cannot  borrow  that  love  for  the  soil,  and  the  great 
outdoors,  and  the  growing  crops,  and  the  domestic  animals, 
which  marks  every  successful  rural  people.  These  things 
have  to  be  developed  on  the  soil,  to  be  bred  into  the  bone  and 
fiber  of  the  people,  and  they  are  the  first  requisites  for  good 
farming.  After  them  comes  scientific  knowledge.  In  the 
development  of  such  moral  qualities  as  these  the  church  has 
been,  and  may  become  again,  the  most  effective  agency. 

Because  of  such  moral  qualities  as  these,  the  Puritans  were 
able  to  subdue  the  New  England  forest  and  to  build  up  a 
great  rural  civilization  on  the  basis  of  a  sterile  soil  and  an 
inhospitable  climate,  and  without  any  great  amount  of  scien- 
tific knowledge,  though  as  compared  with  other  communities 
their  knowledge  of  agriculture  was  not  inferior.  They  took 
their  work  seriously,  as  befitted  those  who  had  such  a  task 
before  them  as  the  building  of  a  wilderness  empire.  Their 
unbending  sense  of  duty  and  their  thrift  and  foresight  have 
become  proverbial,  as  have  their  keenness,  their  alertness, 
and  their  humor.  But  their  mutual  helpfulness,  though  less 
proverbial,  is  attested  by  their  log-rollings,  their  house  rais- 
ings, their  husking  bees,  and  the  like,  making  even  their 
pleasures  bring  them  useful  results,  both  material  and  social. 


66  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

—  material  in  the  sense  of  having  something  more  substantial 
than  headaches  to  show  for  their  festivities,  social  in  the 
sense  of  having  the  strongest  of  all  bonds  of  social  sym- 
pathy, namely  cooperative  labor,  as  the  basis  of  their  social 
enjoyment. 

It  is  said  that  the  great  problem  of  the  country  church 
to-day  is  that  of  an  adequate  support  of  the  ministry.  How 
can  the  ministry  be  adequately  supported?  One  obvious 
answer  is  to  reduce  the  number  of  churches,  where  there  are 
too  many  churches  for  the  community  to  support.  This  is  a 
good  answer;  perhaps  that  is  the  easiest  way,  but  it  is  the 
second-best  way.  Another  way  is  to  build  up  the  community 
in  order  that  it  may  furnish  adequate  membership  and  ade- 
quate support  for  all  the  churches.  This  may  be  a  harder 
way,  but  where  it  is  not  impossible  it  is  the  best. 

There  was  a  time  when  the  finance  ministers  of  European 
governments  were  hard  pressed  to  provide  a  revenue  for  the 
expenses  of  the  state.  They  eventually  found  that  the  best 
way  to  get  adequate  support  for  the  state  was  to  increase  the 
prosperity  of  the  country.  When  they  began  studying  how 
to  make  the  country  prosperous,  the  science  of  national 
economy,  or  political  economy,  was  born.  When  they  who 
are  charged  with  the  task  of  raising  money  for  the  support  of 
the  churches  and  the  ministry  awaken  to  the  fact  that  the 
best  way  to  secure  adequate  support  is  to  make  the  parish 
more  prosperous,  the  science  of  parish  economy  will  be  born. 
This  will  be,  for  our  rural  churches,  as  fortunate  an  event  as 
the  birth  of  political  economy  was  for  modern  governments. 

Of  course  there  should  be  continued  emphasis,  in  the  teach- 
ings of  the  church  and  the  pulpit,  upon  the  plain  economic 
virtues  of  industry,  sobriety,  thrift,  practical  scientific  knowl- 
edge, and  mutual  helpfulness;  but  much  more  emphasis  than 
heretofore  should  be  placed  on  the  last  two.  Practical  scien- 
tific knowledge  of  agriculture  and  mutual  helpfulness  in  the 
promotion  of  the  welfare  of  the  parish  are  absolutely  essential, 


PROBLEMS  OF   RURAL   SOCIAL  LIFE  67 

and  unless  the  churches  can  help  in  this  direction  they  will 
remain  poor  and  inadequately  supported.  For  those  who 
think  that  the  church  should  hold  itself  above  the  work  of 
preaching  the  kind  of  conduct  that  pays,  or  the  kind  of  life 
that  succeeds,  the  economic  law  stated  above  is  the  strongest 
argument. 

If  the  kingdom  of  God  is  a  kingdom  of  service,  these  efforts 
are  quite  consistent  with  the  mission  of  the  church.  If  it 
will  seek  to  serve  the  community  in  this  way,  seeking  frst  to 
be  of  service,  all  the  other  things  —  that  is,  sufficient  wealth, 
membership,  esteem,  etc.  —  will  be  added  unto  it.  If,  how- 
ever, it  seeks  first  merely  to  make  proselytes,  to  increase  its 
membership,  or  to  get  money,  it  will  have  no  reason  to  expect 
or  deserve  permanent  success. 

Organized  efforts  in  the  churches  for  the  study  of  parish 
economy,  for  gaining  more  and  more  scientific  knowledge  of 
agriculture,  for  the  practical  kind  of  Christian  brotherhood 
which  shows  itself  in  the  form  of  mutual  helpfulness  and 
cooperation,  in  the  form  of  decreasing  jealousy  and  suspicion, 
in  the  form  of  greater  public  spirit,  greater  alertness  for 
opportunities  of  promoting  the  public  good  and  building  up 
the  parish  and  the  community,  in  helping  young  men  and 
young  women  to  get  started  in  productive  work  and  in  home 
building,  in  helping  the  children  to  get  the  kind  of  training 
which  will  enable  them  to  make  a  better  living  in  the  parish, 
—  efforts  of  this  kind  will  eventually  result  in  better  support 
for  the  churches  themselves,  because  the  community  will 
then  be  able  to  support  the  church  more  liberally,  and,  what 
is  more  important,  it  will  then  see  that  the  church  is  worth 
supporting. 

This  ideal  of  a  church  which  makes  itself  a  factor  in  building 
up  a  community,  even  in  material  things,  is  not  an  impossible 
ideal.  It  has  been  realized  in  the  past  and  it  can  be  realized 
again.  An  illustrious  example  is  that  of  Jean  Frederic  Oberlin, 
the  pastor  of  the  Steinthal.     Numberless  other  examples  can 


68  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

be  found  in  the  religious  orders  of  the  medieval  church,  — 
examples  of  communities  which  were  made  rich  and  prosperous 
by  the  teachings  and  the  example  of  self-sacrificing  leaders. 
This  ideal  will,  however,  never  be  realized  by  a  church  which 
affects  to  despise  this  world  and  the  things  of  this  world, 
which  regards  the  world  itself  as  lost,  and  conceives  of  its  own 
mission  as  consisting  in  saving  as  many  individual  souls  as 
possible  from  the  wreck. 

If  the  church  will  assume  that  the  world  is  not  going  to 
perdition,  that  it  is  going  to  last  for  a  long  time,  and  that  it 
will  eventually  be  a  Christian  or  a  non-Christian  world,  accord- 
ing as  Christians  or  non-Christians  prove  themselves  more 
fit  to  possess  it,  —  according  as  they  are  better  farmers,  bfetter 
business  men,  better  mechanics,  better  politicians,  —  then 
the  church  will  turn  its  attention  more  and  more  to  the  mak- 
ing of  better  and  more  progressive  farmers,  business  men, 
mechanics,  and  politicians. 

What  is  Social  Service  ? 

Much  is  being  said  nowadays  about  social  service  as  the 
mission  of  the  church.  That  is,  in  itself,  an  excellent  thing; 
but  there  is  a  tendency  to  take  too  narrow  a  view  of  social 
service,  just  as  there  was  formerly  a  tendency  to  take  too 
narrow  a  view  of  spirituality.  The  result  is  that  as  much  cant 
is  being  preached  in  the  name  of  social  service  as  ever  was 
preached  in  the  name  of  spirituality.  This  is  to  be  expected 
of  those  who  do  not  realize  that  all  productive  work,  such  as 
growing  corn,  wheat,  or  cattle,  to  feed  the  world,  or  growing 
wool  or  cotton  to  clothe  the  world,  is  social  service;  and  that 
the  best  social  service  which  the  average  man  can  perform  is 
to  do  his  regular  work  well,  —  to  grow  good  crops  if  he  is 
a  farmer,  and  to  bring  up  his  family  in  habits  of  industry, 
sobriety,  thrift,  reliability,  and  mutual  helpfulness;  that 
anything,  in  short,  is  social  service  which  builds  up  the  country 
and  makes  it  strong,  powerful,  progressive,  and  prosperous. 


PROBLEMS  OF  RURAL   SOCL\L  LIFE  69 

The  church  which  preaches  and  teaches  social  service  in 
this  broad  and  constructive  sense  will  become  a  powerful 
factor  in  the  progress  and  prosperity  of  the  country,  and  is 
not  likely  to  lack  for  adequate  support. 

The  dependence  of  the  farmer  upon  his  social  surroundings, 
as  previously  pointed  out,  gives  the  country  church  a  unique 
opportunity  for  real  service  outside  the  field  of  agricultural 
production.  The  organizations  which  can  supply  the  farmer 
and  his  family  with  an  agreeable  social  life  will  supply  one  of 
the  greatest  needs  of  rural  people  and  will  deserve  their  sup- 
port. If  the  church  can  do  this,  there  need  be  no  rival  organ- 
ization spring  up  to  divide  the  loyalty  and  support  of  the 
people.  If  the  church  does  not  do  it,  some  other  organiza- 
tion will.  The  need  is  too  great  to  be  left  unsatisfied,  and  will 
create  the  means  for  its  own  satisfaction. 

In  order  that  the  country  church  may  contribute  its  share 
toward  supplying  opportunities  for  a  wholesome  and  agree- 
able social  life,  it  is  not  necessary  that  it  undertake  an  elaborate 
program  of  entertainments,  concerts,  gymnastic  classes,  etc., 
though  all  these  things  are  good  in  their  places.  One  thing, 
and  only  one  thing,  is  essential,  though  it  is  sometimes  difficult 
to  attain  and  is  always  capable  of  infinite  variation.  It  is 
essential  that  people  with  a  common  interest  should  occa- 
sionally be  brought  together,  that  is,  within  speaking  distance 
of  one  another.  If  that  can  be  done,  social  life  will  take  care 
of  itself.  But  it  is  not  always  easy  to  find  a  common  interest. 
In  some  times  and  places  theological  speculation,  in  others 
political  or  scientific  speculation,  has  so  occupied  men's  minds 
as  to  give  them  an  all-absorbing  theme  of  common  interest. 
When  they  came  together  their  common  interests  made  them 
agreeable  company  for  one  another  and  gave  them  ample 
opportunity  for  high  converse  on  great  themes.  Where  there 
is  no  common  and  absorbing  interest  of  this  kind  something 
must  be  found  or  created,  otherwise  conversation  will  revolve 
interminably  around  such  themes  as  the  weather  and  crops 


70  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

But  it  is  not  at  all  necessary  that  conversation  should  center 
in  speculative  themes,  either  theological,  political,  or  scientific. 
Problems  of  parish  or  neighborhood  economy,  of  rural  beau- 
tification,  are  large  enough  to  occupy  the  time  and  attention 
of  several  generations.  The  problems  of  the  beautification 
of  rural  roads,  bridges,  schoolhouses  and  grounds,  church 
grounds,  etc.,  are  enough  to  occupy  the  spare  time  and  atten- 
tion of  rural  America  for  a  hundred  years  to  come.  A  neigh- 
borhood which  becomes  possessed  with  a  common  passion 
for  beautification  will  never  lack  for  social  life.  The  church 
which  can  arouse  such  an  interest  as  this,  or  any  other  equally 
noble  interest,  will  have  gone  a  long  way  toward  solving 
the  problem  of  a  wholesome  and  agreeable  social  life  in  the 
country. 

But  the  well-known  and  regularly  established  means  of 
social  grace  must  not  be  overlooked.  Most  people  like  to 
eat  and  drink,  and  when  they  can  be  brought  together  around 
a  common  table,  they  have,  in  a  small  way  at  least,  every 
essential  of  social -life;  that  is,  you  have  your  people  together 
with  a  common  interest.  From  this  as  a  beginning  there  is 
possible  a  vast  widening  of  the  social  life.  It  can  scarcely 
be  regarded  as  profane  to  suggest  that  we  have,  in  this  ele- 
mentary social  principle,  one  of  the  great  facts  of  life  which 
are  symbolized  in  the  Holy  Communion.  Again,  there  are 
the  common  social  amusements  and  recreations.  Of  particular 
value  for  rural  communities  is  choral  singing,  the  highest  form 
of  social  amusement  known  to  man.  Where  a  group  of  people 
sing  together  for  their  own  delectation,  rather  than  for  that 
of  an  audience,  we  have  one  of  the  best  possible  solvents  of 
private  differences  and  idiosyncrasies,  and  one  of  the  highest 
possible  means  of  promoting  a  sense  of  brotherhood  and  soli- 
darity, as  well  as  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  primitive  forms 
of  social  communion.  Even  dancing  is  not  to  be  despised 
as  a  means  of  grace,  where  it  can  be  carried  on  in  the  proper 
spirit. 


PROBLEMS   OF  RURAL  SOCIAL  LIFE  71 

The  Example  of  Denmark 

The  most  remarkable  example  of  agricultural  regeneration 
in  modern  times  is  Denmark.  In  1864  she  was  facing  national 
ruin.  As  the  result  of  a  disastrous  war,  itself  a  heavy  drain 
upon  the  country,  she  had  lost  some  of  her  best  provinces.  In 
addition  to  this  she  was  obliged  to  pay  a  heavy  war  indemnity. 
Finally,  and  worst  of  all,  her  German  market  was  cut  off  by 
the  German  tariff  wall.  But  as  one  result  of  this  accumulation 
of  calamities  there  was  developed  an  intense  feeling  of  national 
patriotism  and  solidarity.  Out  of  this  feeling  grew  a  number 
of  cooperative  measures  for  the  rebuilding  of  the  country, 
especially  in  the  field  of  agriculture.  Within  fifty  years 
Denmark  became  the  most  prosperous  country  on  the  con- 
tinent of  Europe,  and  stands  to-day  as  a  monument  to  the 
efficiency  of  the  spirit  of  intelligent  cooperation.  It  is  a 
cooperation  not  forced  upon  the  people  by  a  government,  but 
a  spontaneous  cooperation  growing  out  of  a  general  spirit 
of  patriotism  and  mutual  helpfulness.  Every  student  who 
is  intimately  acquainted  with  the  history  of  this  movement 
agrees  that  the  popular  recreations  and  festivities  have  been 
powerful  factors  in  creating  this  spirit,  and  that  the  popular 
songs  and  hymns,  and  the  habit  of  singing  them  together  on 
all  occasions,  have  given  to  these  recreations  and  festivities 
a  patriotic  and  religious  character  which  is  to  be  found  nowhere 
else  to-day  on  so  large  a  scale. 

Every  college  student  is  familiar  with  the  fact  that  when 
a  body  of  students  unites  upon  a  common  interest,  like  an 
athletic  contest,  there  is  not  the  slightest  difficulty  in  getting 
them  together,  and  when  they  do  get  together  there  is  not  the 
slightest  difficulty  in  keeping  things  going.  Even  singing 
seems  to  be  a  perfectly  natural  and  fitting  form  of  expression. 
Precisely  the  same  principle  has  been  seen  in  operation  on  a 
larger  scale  by  any  one  who  has  lived  through  a  great  national 
crisis,  like  a  war.     When  the  people  are  intensely  interested 


72  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

in  the  same  thing  their  gatherings  are  never  dull.  Singing 
together  is  a  natural  way  of  expressing  the  common  feeling, 
and  no  one  questions  its  propriety. 

The  Danish  people  have  demonstrated  that  it  is  possible 
for  a  whole  people  to  become  as  thoroughly  united  and  as 
enthusiastic  upon  the  common  interest  of  agricultural  pro- 
duction and  national  upbuilding  as  it  is  for  a  body  of  college 
students  to  become  upon  the  subject  of  an  athletic  contest, 
or  for  a  nation  to  become  on  the  subject  of  war.  The  church 
which  can  give  its  people  or  its  neighborhood  a  great  and  noble 
enthusiasm  like  this  will  have  no  difificulty  in  creating  a  vibrat- 
ing social  life.  Then  it  will  not  seem  out  of  place,  or  bad 
taste,  for  the  people  to  sing  whenever  they  get  together.^ 
The  absence  of  any  common  enthusiasm  means  a  disunited, 
egoistic,  disintegrating  social  life,  compared  with  which  even 
war,  horrible  as  it  is,  may  be  the  lesser  evil  if  it  results  in  uniting 
the  people  in  a  common  interest  and  a  common  cause.  Since 
Denmark  has  shown  that  a  people  may  develop  a  common 
enthusiasm  for  the  arts  of  peace,  it  ought  to  furnish  a  basis 
for  a  constructive  faith  in  its  possibility  elsewhere.  If  the 
church  is  not  to  be  the  conservator  of  that  constructive  kind 
of  faith,  where  shall  we  look  for  it? 

The  Country  School 

The  country  school,  though  a  younger  institution  than  the 
country  church,  is  regarded  by  many  as  the  more  powerful  and 
influential  of  the  two.  It  has  certain  manifest  advantages, 
chief  among  which  is  the  fact  that  it  belongs  to  the  whole 
community  instead  of  a  part  of  it.  Therefore  it  can  be  made 
the  center  of  the  life  of  the  whole  neighborhood  more  easily 
than  the  church  can,  especially  where  denominational  differ- 
ences tend  to  divide  the  community.     On  the  other  hand, 

'  Incidentally  it  may  be  mentioned  that  many  of  the  oldest  recorded 
hymns  of  the  Indo-European  branch  of  the  human  race,  those  of  the  Rig- 
Veda,  are  agricultural  hymns. 


PROBLEMS  OF   RURAL   SOCIAL  LIFE  73 

the  fact  that  the  school  is  a  territorial  institution  —  that  is, 
that  it  belongs  to  all  the  people  living  within  a  certain  terri- 
tory —  puts  it  at  a  disadvantage  as  compared  with  the  church 
in  a  neighborhood  where  the  majority  of  the  voters  are  un- 
progressive  and  unenlightened.  In  such  a  neighborhood  the 
school  is  likely  to  be  of  little  use,  except  in  so  far  as  it  is  com- 
pelled by  higher  state  authorities  to  fulfill  its  function  properly. 
But  if  the  church,  being  a  voluntary  institution,  should  happen 
to  have  in  its  membership  the  more  enlightened  and  pro- 
gressive part  of  the  community,  it  may  begin  a  work  of  social 
regeneration  which  would  be  impossible  for  the  school.  But, 
of  course,  if  the  church  should  be  in  the  control  of  the  least 
intelligent  and  least  progressive  part  of  the  community,  as 
is  sometimes  the  case,  it  possesses  all  the  disadvantages  and 
none  of  the  advantages  of  the  school. 

The  country  school  is,  of  course,  primarily  an  educational 
institution,  and  as  such  must  give  its  attention  mainly  to 
instruction  in  certain  conventional  subjects  which  the  world 
has  come  to  regard  as  the  necessary  basis  of  an  education,  or 
as  the  essentials  of  a  preparation  for  life.  Remembering 
always  that  every  kind  of  productive  work  is  social  service, 
we  need  have  no  difficulty  in  seeing  that  the  first  duty  of  the 
school  is  to  fit  its  students  for  individual  success  in  some  line 
of  production,  and  that  the  line  for  which  the  rural  school 
is  best  fitted  to  prepare  its  pupils  is  agricultural  production. 
But  inasmuch  as  our  present  purpose  is  not  to  discuss  the 
general  problem  of  rural  education,  but  only  to  consider  how 
the  rural  school  may  be  made  a  factor  in  developing  a  more 
wholesome  and  agreeable  social  life  in  the  country,  we  need 
not  consider  the  rural-school  curriculum. 

There  is  already  an  admirable  interest  in  the  school  as  a 
means  of  developing  patriotism.  The  flag  raisings,  the  cele- 
bration of  national  holidays,  the  reading  of  patriotic  literature, 
the  memorizing  of  national  classics,  all  are  excellent,  and  show 
how  thoroughly  awake  our  people  are  to  some  of  the  broader 


74  THOMAS   NIXON   CARVER 

aspects  of  the  problem.  Much  remains  yet  to  be  done,  how- 
ever, in  giving  definiteness  and  concreteness  to  the  patriotic 
sentiments  which  we  are  trying  to  develop.  It  is  one  thing 
to  develop  patriotism  as  an  abstract  virtue;  it  is  quite  a  dif- 
ferent thing  to  develop  it  as  a  passion  for  a  definite,  concrete, 
national  achievement.  At  all  times  and  in  all  lands  the  desire 
for  victory  in  war  has  been  the  most  powerful  stimulus  to 
patriotism.  That  gives  the  people  something  definite  to 
strive  for,  —  a  concrete  achievement  around  which  patriotic 
sentiments  may  crystallize.  That  "peace  hath  her  victories 
no  less  renowned  than  war,"  we  doubtless  believe  in  a  general 
sort  of  way;  but  until  our  belief  becomes  particular,  and  we 
come  to  center  our  desires  upon  some  definite  productive 
achievement  in  the  arts  of  peace,  we  shall  never  be  able  to 
arouse  the  patriotic  passion  as  effectively  in  peace  as  in  war. 
This  ought  to  be  especially  clear  to  students  who  will  have 
observed  that  school  loyalty,  merely  as  an  abstract  virtue,  is 
difficult  to  develop  without  some  definite  achievement  like 
an  athletic  contest  or  a  debate,  or  even  a  spelling  match,  to 
be  carried  through.  For  our  country  schools,  as  well  as  for 
every  other  social  agency  in  the  country,  one  great  problem, 
therefore,  must  be  to  particularize  the  patriotic  sentiments 
of  the  community  and  give  them  a  definite,  productive  aim. 

People  Generally  Get  What  They  Want  Most 

When  a  common  or  universal  passion  for  productive  achieve- 
ment is  once  definitely  aroused  in  a  community,  the  achieve- 
ment will  follow  as  a  matter  of  course.  Any  community  can 
have  as  beautiful  a  countryside  as  it  wants,  provided  it  wants 
it  seriously  enough,  and  with  sufficient  unanimity,  to  spend 
the  time  and  energy  necessary  to  beautify  it.  Any  community 
can  have  as  moral  a  community  or  as  prosperous  a  community 
as  it  wants,  under  the  same  conditions.  Conversely,  the  lack 
of  a  common  desire  or  a  common  social  interest  means  failure 
in  the  arts  of  peace  as  surely  as  in  those  of  war. 


PROBLEMS   OF   RURAL   SOCIAL  LIFE  75 

The  desire  to  make  the  village  the  most  beautiful  village 
in  the  world,  or  to  make  one's  township  the  most  beautiful 
township,  or  to  make  it  the  greatest  corn-  or  cotton-  or  wheat- 
or  potato-growing  township,  or  to  make  its  schools  the  best  in 
the  world,  or  to  produce  the  finest  cattle  or  horses  or  hogs  in 
the  world,  —  any  really  useful  purpose,  in  fact,  if  it  will  unite 
the  people  and  call  out  a  common  and  universal  enthusiasm, 
—  will  do  more  to  dignify  the  social  life  of  the  village  or  town- 
ship than  all  the  purposeless  social  entertainments  that  could 
be  invented.  A  social  life  is  not  created  by  merely  saying.  Go 
to,  now,  let  us  be  sociable.  It  is  created  by  having  a  common 
purpose,  worthy  enough  to  commend  itself  to  all  right-minded 
people,  and  large  enough  to  demand  their  attention,  their 
time,  and  their  hard  work.  The  young  men  and  women  in 
particular,  of  our  race,  have  never  yet  failed  to  respond  to  a 
call  to  hard  work  and  self-sacrifice,  when  the  work  and  the 
sacrifice  were  for  an  object  of  common  good  which  they  really 
thought  worth  achieving. 

Next  to  a  common  interest  and  enthusiasm,  the  most  im- 
portant factors  in  the  creation  of  a  wholesome  and  agreeable 
social  life  in  the  country  are  opportunities  for  meeting  and 
ease  of  communication.  Aside  from  all  the  purely  religious 
services  rendered  by  the  church,  the  mere  fact  that  it  brings 
people  together  in  the  room  once  a  week  is  of  immeasurable 
value.  The  most  civilizing  influence  in  the  world  is  contact 
of  man  with  man.  Men  cannot  habitually  meet  together  and 
look  into  one  another's  eyes  without  developing  some  kind  of 
a  sense  of  unity ;  nor  can  they  live  entirely  separate  and  apart 
from  one  another  without  becoming  suspicious,  morose,  and 
unsympathetic.  The  school,  likewise,  in  addition  to  its  purely 
educational  functions,  renders  a  service  by  the  mere  fact 
that  it  brings  the  juvenile  population  together  day  after  day. 

In  addition  to  these  regular  occasions  for  meeting,  there 
are  the  extraordinary  occasions,  such  as  national  hoHdays 
and  special  rural  festivities.    Unfortunately  we  have,  in  this 


76  THOMAS   NIXON  CARVER 

country,  failed  to  live  up  to  our  opportunities  in  the  way  of 
rural  sports  and  festivities.  In  earlier  days  the  corn  huskings, 
barn  raisings,  quiltings,  and  a  multitude  of  other  occasions 
of  the  same  general  description  supplied  the  need  for  whole- 
some recreation.  Now  we  have  outgrown  the  need  for  those 
precise  forms  of  social  gathering,  and  have  not,  as  yet,  devel- 
oped anything  satisfactory  to  take  their  place.  We  may  say 
distinctly,  therefore,  that  here  is  one  of  the  unsolved  problems 
of  American  rural  life,  though  a  partial  solution  has  already 
been  found  in  some  sections  of  the  country.  In  the  old- 
fashioned  Southern  barbecue,  which  still  survives  in  certain 
favored  communities;  in  the  Old  Settlers'  Day,  which  is 
celebrated  in  some  communities  of  the  central  West;  and  in 
the  Old  Home  Week  of  New  England,  we  have  examples  of 
rural  festivities  which  illustrate  what  may  be  done  in  any 
community  where  the  whole  countryside  turns  out  for  a  hol- 
iday. Doubtless  there  are  numerous  other  examples  in  other 
parts  of  the  country.  In  some  of  the  older  countries  the 
number  and  character  of  these  festivals  constitute  an  attractive 
feature  of  rural  life. 

The  Tough  Neighborhood 

One  difficulty  with  us  is  that  we  are  not  yet  far  enough 
removed  from  the  backwoods  stage  to  have  entirely  eliminated 
the  rowdy  element  from  our  rural  population.  This  element 
is  frequently  so  much  in  evidence  on  these  occasions,  especially 
in  backwoods  neighborhoods,  as  to  keep  the  more  decent  and 
self-respecting  element  away,  thus  destroying  the  value  of 
the  festival.  A  few  generations  of  severe  competition  will 
doubtless  give  the  advantage  more  and  more  to  the  sober, 
steady-going,  self-respecting  element,  especially  where  the 
land  is  highly  desirable.  The  restless,  turbulent,  rowdy  ele- 
ment being  crowded  out,  one  of  the  greatest  drawbacks  to  a 
wholesome  social  life  in  the  country  will  have  disappeared. 
This  process  is  noticeably  taking  place  in  the  best  farming 


PROBLEMS   OF   RURAL   SOCIAL  LIFE  77 

regions,  where  there  is  something  to  attract  a  more  progress- 
ive class  of  people.  It  has  not  yet  shown  itself  so  clearly 
in  poorer  regions,  where  there  is  little  to  attract  a  superior 
type  of  men  and  women. 

In  fact,  it  is  an  open  question  whether  the  poorest  land  is 
not  destined  to  remain  ultimately  in  the  possession  of  a  poorer 
type  of  man.  A  selective  process  seems  to  be  going  on,  which 
tends  to  bring  about  such  a  result.  Where  the  land  is  fertile 
and  the  opportunities  for  agricultural  enterprise  are  good, 
the  intelligent  and  progressive  youths  are  induced  to  remain 
on  the  farm.  They  will  be  able  to  beat  the  less  intelligent  in 
competition  and  to  buy  the  land  away  from  them.  At  the 
same  time,  such  lands  attract  the  more  intelligent  and  pro- 
gressive farmers  who  are  looking  for  a  place  in  which  to  locate. 
An  unintelligent  and  unprogressive  farmer  stands  a  poor  show 
in  such  a  place.  The  other  class  will  offer  so  much  for  land 
that  he  will  not  be  able  to  buy  it.  If  he  owns  it  already,  they 
will  offer  him  so  much  for  it  that  he  will  generally  yield  to 
the  pressure  sooner  or  later,  and  sell  out.  On  the  other  hand, 
where  the  land  is  poor  and  opportunities  meager,  the  more 
capable  of  the  growing  youths  tend  to  move  away,  so  long  at 
least  as  there  are  better  opportunities  to  be  found  elsewhere. 
Again,  the  men  who  are  crowded  off  the  richer  lands  will  some- 
times drift  toward  those  cheaper  lands  where  they  do  not  have 
to  bid  against  competent,  but  only  against  incompetent, 
farmers.  Eventually,  however,  it  is  possible  that  the  com- 
petition even  here  may  become  so  severe  as  to  drive  out  the 
undesirable  element. 

The  Standard  of  Living 

The  suggestion  that  the  best  lands  tend  to  get  into  the  hands 
of  the  best  farmers  needs  qualification.  It  sometimes  looks 
as  though  they  tended  to  get  into  the  hands  of  the  farmers  with 
the  cheapest  standard  of  living.  It  has  often  been  noticed 
and  remarked  upon  that  foreign-born  farmers  are  buying  out 


78  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

our  native  American  farmers,  not  because  the  foreigners  are 
better  farmers,  but  because  they  can  live  more  cheaply  and 
thus  accumulate  capital  for  investment  more  rapidly.  This, 
it  is  claimed,  is  merely  a  triumph  of  a  lower  over  a  higher 
standard  of  living,  and  indicates  a  tendency  toward  keeping 
farm  life  on  a  low  level. 

Against  this  pessimistic  view  there  are  two  arguments.  In 
the  first  place,  during  the  entire  latter  third  of  the  nineteenth 
century  agriculture  was  relatively  unprofitable  in  this  country. 
This  is  the  period  when  the  displacement  of  American-born 
by  foreign-born  farmers  was  so  noticeable.  For  an  American 
of  good  education  and  business  capacity,  who  was  therefore 
fitted  for  business  or  professional  life,  there  is  no  doubt  that 
during  that  period  the  city  offered  better  opportunities  than 
the  country,  on  the  average.  The  foreigner,  unless  he  were 
a  man  of  unusual  education  and  culture,  had  to  take  his  choice 
between  farming  on  the  one  hand,  and  some  form  of  hand 
labor  on  the  other.  To  him  farming  was  frequently  the  only 
attractive  opportunity.  The  reason  the  American  farmer 
was  willing  to  sell  out  at  a  price  which  the  foreigner  could  pay 
was  not  altogether  because  the  foreigner  could  make  the  farm 
pay  better,  but  because  the  American  had  opportunities  in 
the  city  which  the  foreigner  did  not  have,  not  having  yet 
become  sufficiently  adjusted  to  the  conditions  of  American 
life.  Now  that  agriculture  is  becoming  more  prosperous, 
so  that  the  American-born  farmer  may  have  as  good  oppor- 
tunities in  the  country  as  in  the  city,  it  remains  to  be  seen 
whether  he  can  be  displaced  by  the  foreigner,  that  is,  whether 
he  will  generally  be  willing  to  sell  out  at  a  price  which  the 
foreigner  can  afford  to  pay,  or  whether  he  will  not  be  willing 
and  able  to  pay  as  much  for  land  as  the  foreigner  will.  In  the 
second  place,  a  cheap  standard  of  living  is  not  necessarily  an 
efficient  one.  A  more  expensive  standard,  provided  it  is 
rational,  may  be  more  efficient  in  competition  than  a  cheaper 
one.     An  expensive  standard  of  living,  which  includes  forms 


PROBLEMS   OF  RURAL  SOCIAL  LIFE  79 

of  expenditure  that  minister  to  mere  pride  and  ostentation, 
or  to  unwholesome  appetites,  and  does  not  add  to  one's  intel- 
ligence or  working  capacity,  will  handicap  one  in  competition 
with  men  whose  standards  of  living  do  not  include  these 
irrational  forms  of  expenditure.  But  an  expensive  standard 
of  living,  which  includes  only  such  forms  of  expenditure  as 
maintain  strength  and  working  capacity,  stimulate  mental 
energy  and  alertness,  and  minister  to  the  higher  intellectual, 
social,  and  aesthetic  desires,  will  never  handicap  any  one  in 
competition  with  men  of  lower  standards.  One  result  of  a 
competition  among  standards  of  living  will  be,  in  the  long 
run,  to  rationalize  the  standards,  ehminating  those  forms  of 
expenditure  which  add  nothing,  and  preserving  those  which 
add  something,  to  efficiency.  This  will  come  about  through 
the  greater  success  of  those  families  whose  standards  of  living 
approach  most  nearly  to  rationality,  and  through  the  lesser 
success  of  those  families  whose  standards  of  living  depart 
most  widely  from  rationality.  When  farming  becomes  suffi- 
ciently profitable  to  furnish  opportunities  approximately  as 
good  as  those  furnished  by  the  businesses  and  professions  of 
the  city,  there  is  no  reason  why  farmers  with  a  high  standard 
of  living  should  be  displaced  by  those  with  a  low  stan- 
dard, provided  the  high  standard  is  National,  and  not  one 
which  ministers  to  enervating  appetites  or  mere  vanity  and 
ostentation. 

Rural  Sports  and  Recreations 

Every  hard-working  student  will  easily  understand  how 
essential  a  reasonable  amount  of  recreation  is  to  the  main- 
tenance of  a  high  state  of  mental  and  physical  efficiency.  He 
will  then  appreciate  the  statement  that  a  rational  standard 
of  living  must  include  a  reasonable  expenditure  of  time  or 
money  on  recreations:  Just  what  is  a  reasonable  expenditure 
for  this  purpose  may  not  be  easy  to  determine,  though  there 
need  be  no  disagreement  as  to  the  general  principle  that  too 


8o  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

little  recreation,  which  produces  dullness  of  body  and  mind, 
is  as  bad  as  too  much,  which  is  mere  dissipation  or  waste  of 
time,  energy,  and  money.  Nor  need  there  be  any  disagree- 
ment as  to  the  principle  that  the  recreations  should  be  such 
as  to  appeal  to  all  members  of  the  community.  While  econ- 
omists generally  approve  a  division  of  labor  in  industry,  there 
are  few  who  will  approve  a  kind  of  division  of  labor  which  is 
too  frequently  found  in  rural  communities,  where  most  of  the 
men  work  all  the  time  and  never  play,  while  a  few  loafers 
amuse  themselves  all  the  time  and  never  work. 

Rural  sports  are  the  natural  adjunct  of  rural  festivals  as  a 
means  of  maintaining  a  wholesome  and  agreeable  social  life 
in  the  country.  Owing  to  a  natural  excitability  and  tendency 
to  excess,  Americans  have  found  it  difficult  to  develop  dis- 
tinctive rural  sports  as  a  permanent  and  dignified  institution 
of  rural  life,  except  in  a  few  favored  localities.  Fox  hunting 
and  horse  racing  tend,  in  this  country,  to  be  spoiled  as  rural 
sports  by  their  affectation  by  urban  magnates  in  the  one  case 
and  livery-stable  toughs  in  the  other.  Nothing  is  finer  and 
more  dignified  than  for  a  group  of  neighboring,  well-to-do 
farmers  to  unite  for  a  day's  hunting,  when  the  purpose  is  to 
rid  the  country  of  vermin;  but  when  a  group  of  townsmen, 
who  have  learned  to  ride  under  a  roof  in  a  professional  riding 
school,  proceed  to  the  country  and  advertise  their  solvency 
by  chasing  a  timid  fox  across  the  fields,  the  sight  is  not  cal- 
culated to  inspire  admiration.  Nor  is  there  any  sport  more 
fitting  than  for  a  group  of  horse-breeding  farmers  to  meet 
for  the  purpose  of  testing  the  speed  of  their  colts  in  a  fair  and 
open  competition.  It  is  only  by  such  open  competition  that 
successful  horse  breeding  is  made  possible.  But  when  horse 
racing  degenerates  into  a  mere  vaudeville  ''stunt,"  or,  as  is 
more  frequently  the  case,  into  a  mere  opportunity  for  a  group 
of  professional  gamblers  from  the  purlieus  of  the  livery  stables, 
who  have  been  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  race-track  man- 
agement, to  enrich  themselves  at  the  expense  of  the  unini- 


PROBLEMS   OF  RURAL   SOCIAL  LIFE  8i 

tiated,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  it  has  lost  its  virtue  as 
the  inspirer  of  a  wholesome  and  agreeable  social  life  in  the 
country. 

In  view  of  the  well-known  excitability  of  the  American 
temperament,  and  its  tendency  to  excess,  it  is  important  that 
rural  sport  in  this  country  should  be  of  a  character  which  does 
not  lend  itself  readily  to  extreme  specialization;  otherwise 
it  will  tend  to  drift  into  the  hands  of  specialists,  who  do  the 
playing  while  the  public  looks  on.  This  produces  a  spectacle 
rather  than  a  sport.  It  is  also  important  that  there  should 
be  considerable  variety  in  the  forms  of  sport,  in  order  that  as 
many  as  possible  should  be  able  to  participate.  Of  particular 
importance,  however,  is  the  requirement  that  these  sports 
should  fit  into  the  seasonal  character  of  rural  work.  City 
work  is  so  uniform  that  the  time  for  recreation  can  be  evenly 
distributed  throughout  the  year.  Short  hours  with  regular 
weekly,  biweekly,  or  monthly  half  holidays  give  the  city  worker 
ample  time  for  wholesome  recreation.  But  since  in  every 
farming  country  there  are  rush  seasons,  when  short  hours  and 
half  holidays  would  mean  a  loss  of  crops,  it  is  obvious  that 
recreation  time  cannot  be  so  evenly  diffused.  To  make  up 
for  this,  it  is  desirable  that  during  the  seasons  when  work  is 
slack  there  should  be  regular  periods  of  recreation,  and  games 
which  need  not  be  crowded  into  a  single  afternoon. 

This  suggests  the  need  also  of  regular  annual  festival  occa- 
sions, suited  to  each  section  of  the  country  and  its  type  of 
agriculture,  when  there  can  be  a  general  relaxation  from  the 
strenuous  toil  of  the  rush  seasons.  In  anticipation  of  such  a 
period  of  jollity,  the  grinding  fatigue  of  the  busy  season  is 
borne  with  more  patience,  particularly  by  the  young  people, 
and  the  work  is  done  more  vigorously  because  more  cheerfully. 
Again,  there  is  the  possibility  of  uniting  social  pleasure  with 
rural  work  to  a  somewhat  greater  degree  than  is  now  done. 
If  the  spirit  which  showed  itself  among  our  ancestors  in  the 
barn  raisings,  logrollings,  and  similar  occasions  could  be  re- 


82  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

stored,  it  is  possible  that  the  present  generation  could  get  a 
great  deal  of  social  pleasure  out  of  the  threshing  season  and 
other  occasions  of  a  similar  character.  This  would  seem  to 
be  the  natural  time  for  the  harvest  home  celebration,  which 
has  been  so  important  an  event  in  all  old  rural  civilizations. 
In  former  days,  however,  as  the  writer  can  testify,  threshing 
was  such  prodigiously  hard  work,  and  a  great  deal  of  it  was 
so  dusty  and  disagreeable,  as  to  stifle  any  spirit  of  jollification 
which  might  otherwise  have  arisen.  But  with  the  more  power- 
ful engines  and  more  highly  improved  machinery  of  the  present, 
the  hardest  and  most  disagreeable  part  of  the  work  of  thresh- 
ing has  been  eliminated.  Under  such  conditions  it  is  at  least 
a  theoretical  possibility  that  the  threshing  season  in  any  neigh- 
borhood might  be  made  a  festival  occasion,  to  be  participated 
in  by  women  as  well  as  by  men  —  by  priest,  parson,  and  school- 
ma'am  as  well  as  by  the  farmers  themselves.  This,  however, 
is  only  by  way  of  suggestion. 

The  Grange 

Of  all  the  organizations  which  are  now  contributing  on  a 
large  scale  to  the  social  life  of  rural  America,  the  grange  is,  at 
the  present  time,  one  of  the  most  effective,  partly,  perhaps, 
because  it  is  organized  for  the  purpose.  It  is,  however,  some- 
what exclusive,  in  that  it  serves  the  social  needs  of  its  own 
membership  rather  than  those  of  the  whole  community.  Even 
more  exclusive  in  character  are  the  lodges  of  the  various  secret 
and  fraternal  orders,  which  also  serve  the  social  needs  of  their 
own  members.  This  brings  us  face  to  face  with  one  of  the 
most  difficult  problems  in  the  whole  field  of  rural  social  econ- 
omy, —  Is  it  possible  to  maintain  a  social  life  except  through 
some  agency  of  selection  and  exclusion?  In  aristocratic 
countries,  where  class  distinctions  are  of  ancient  and  historic 
standing,  the  social  life  runs  pretty  definitely  within  class 
lines,  but  within  those  boundaries  it  runs  freely.  In  demo- 
cratic America,  where  caste  and  hereditary  class  distinctions 


PROBLEMS   OF   RURAL  SOCIAL  LIFE  83 

are  not  allowed,  we  have  not  yet  become  adjusted  to  the  new 
situation,  especially  in  the  rural  districts;  and  there  is  a  strong 
tendency  toward  the  formation  of  groups  on  the  basis  of  likes 
and  dislikes,  and  for  the  social  life  to  run  within  these  groups. 
This  is  clearly  a  long  step  in  advance  of  the  caste  system,  or 
of  the  stratification  of  society  according  to  aristocratic  prin- 
ciples, in  that  the  grouping  is  based  upon  something  besides 
the  accident  of  birth;  but  it  falls  short  of  a  thoroughly  demo- 
cratic ideal,  according  to  which  social  life  ought  to  run  freely 
without  regard  to  the  boundaries  of  class,  creed,  or  fraternal 
order.  This  ideal,  however,  has  not  yet  been  realized,  for 
those  countries  and  communities  where  hereditary  aristocracy 
is  least  in  evidence  are  the  places  where  secret  societies  and 
fraternal  orders  are  most  highly  developed  and  most  influen- 
tial. Doubtless  they  furnish  a  protection  against  the  dis- 
agreeable obtrusiveness  of  the  mob  element  in  our  aggressive 
democracy;  but  there  is  danger  that  their  very  exclusiveness 
should  breed  a  spirit  of  snobbishness. 

Shall  Rural  People  Set  Their  Own  Standards,  or  Shall  They 
Imitate  City  People? 

But  all  the  organizations  and  agencies  which  contribute 
to  the  social  life  of  rural  communities  will  fall  short  of  their 
highest  possibilities  unless  they  make  rural  life  socially  self- 
supporting,  and  independent  of  the  standards  and  fashions 
of  the  city;  unless,  in  short,  they  give  to  the  social  life  of  the 
country  a  character  and  dignity  of  its  own,  instead  of  being 
a  bad  copy  of  city  life.  So  long  as  country  life  lacks  this 
distinctive  character  and  dignity,  so  long  as  country  people 
look  to  the  cities  for  their  standards  of  dress,  their  social 
habits,  and  their  ideals  of  propriety,  so  long  will  rural  social 
life  remain  unsatisfactory.  The  domination  of  the  city  over 
the  country  is,  in  last  analysis,  a  mental  or  spiritual  domina- 
tion. It  will  end  when  country  people  are  able  to  set  their 
own  standards,  when  they  stop  trying  to  be  city  people,  or 


84  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

to  be  like  city  people.  When  they  develop  a  reasonable  pride 
in  the  fact  that  they  are  country  people,  and  in  their  country 
dress,  country  habits,  country  customs;  and  when  this  pride 
is  justified  by  the  inherent  sanity  and  simple,  unostentatious 
dignity  of  their  lives,  —  then  we  shall  have  a  rural  civiliza- 
tion worthy  of  the  name.  Unless  this  result  is  achieved,  many 
of  the  so-called  rural  improvements  will  merely  serve  to  link 
the  country  to  the  city  and  still  further  increase  the  domina- 
tion of  the  latter  over  the  former.  If  rural  free  delivery 
does  no  more  than  to  bring  to  the  farmer  the  daily  paper  from 
the  city,  with  its  garish  advertisements  and  its  neurotic  sen- 
sationalism, and  if  this  should  develop  among  country  people 
a  desire  for  those  forms  of  excitement  which  city  people  seem 
to  like  and  to  be  willing  to  pay  for,  the  result  will  be  not  to 
diminish  but  to  increase  the  lure  of  the  city.  When  the  quiet 
and  serenity  of  country  life  are  referred  to  in  such  terms  as 
lonesomeness  and  monotony,  and  the  rural  free  delivery  is 
regarded  merely  as  a  means  of  relieving  that  lonesomeness  and 
monotony,  the  symptoms  are  not  favorable  for  the  develop- 
ment of  a  wholesome  rural  life.  But  if  rural  free  delivery, 
like  the  rural  telephone,  is  a  means  of  linking  one  country 
neighborhood  with  another,  of  exchanging  ideas  among  country 
people  as  well  as  between  city  and  country,  if  it  results  in 
the  development  of  an  esprit  de  corps  among  country  people, 
and  enables  them  to  develop  a  social  life  of  their  own,  all  these 
things  will  help  in  the  building  of  a  worthy  rural  civilization, 
and  in  making  country  life  satisfying  and  agreeable. 

This  is  a  factor  of  great  financial  as  well  as  social  importance. 
When  the  city  contains  everything  which  country  people 
really  want,  then  the  city  will  be  the  place  where  country 
people  will  go  to  spend  their  money.  If  a  farmer  becomes 
prosperous  enough  to  retire  from  work,  he  will  go  to  town  to 
live;  he  will  buy  a  lot  and  build  a  house  in  the  town  and  spend 
his  time  and  his  money  there.  But  if  the  country  contains 
the  things  which  country  people  want,  then  the  country  is 


PROBLEMS   OF  RURAL   SOCIAL  LIFE  85 

the  place  where  they  will  go  to  spend  their  money.  If  the 
farmers  who  wish  to  retire  from  active  work  would  spend  in 
the  country,  on  their  own  farms,  for  example,  the  money 
which  would  be  necessary  to  buy  and  maintain  residences  in 
the  towns  and  cities,  it  would  not  take  very  long  to  make  the 
country  a  most  attractive  place  of  residence.  Schools, 
churches,  library  facihties,  plumbing,  and  steam  heat  can  all 
be  had  in  the  country  as  well  as  in  the  city.  But  if  people 
cultivate  a  liking  for  the  noises,  the  electric  displays,  the 
large  billboards,  and  other  similar  delectations  of  the  cities, 
the  country  can  furnish  few  attractions  of  this  kind  to  com- 
pete with  the  city.  Country  people  will  continue  to  move 
cityward,  seeking  a  chance  to  spend  their  money  for  the  things 
of  their  choice. 

It  may  be  supposed  that  if  the  country  should  furnish  the 
things  which  city  people  really  want  and  are  willing  to  pay 
for,  it  would  contribute  to  the  financial  prosperity  of  the 
country;  but  this  conclusion  must  not  be  too  hastily  reached. 
It  must  not  be  imagined  that  a  mere  willingness  on  the  part 
of  certain  townspeople  to  spend  a  part  of  their  time  and  money 
in  the  country  is  in  itself  a  mark  of  genuine  appreciation  of 
country  life,  or  that  it  tends  to  make  real  farmers,  who  have 
to  make  their  living  at  farming,  more  appreciative  of  rural 
enjoyments.  It  is  one  thing  to  go  to  the  country  once  in  a 
while  to  disburden  one's  self  of  an  accumulation  of  surplus 
cash,  and  then  return  to  the  city  to  talk  about  it;  it  is  quite 
another  thing  to  appreciate  the  quiet  and  homely  enjoyments 
which  lie  within  the  reach  of  the  plain  farmer,  —  enjoyments 
which  do  not  require  even  an  automobile  as  an  accessory. 
Against  the  idea  that  the  rural-life  problem  is  to  be  solved  by 
a  few  wealthy  capitalists  building  themselves  palatial  resi- 
dences in  the  country  and  spending  a  part  of  their  surplus 
time  there.  Sir  Horace  Plunkett  uses  the  following  weighty 
words: 


86  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

I  am  not,  so  they  tell  me,  up  to  date  in  my  information;  there  is  a 
marked  reversion  of  feeling  upon  the  town  versus  the  country  question; 
the  tide  of  the  rural  exodus  has  really  turned,  as  I  might  have  observed 
without  going  far  afield.  At  many  a  Long  Island  home  I  might  see  on 
Sunday,  weather  permitting,  the  horny-handed  son  of  week-day  toil  in 
Wall  Street,  rustically  attired,  inspecting  his  Jersey  cows  and  aristocratic 
fowls.  These  supply  a  select  circle  in  New  York  with  butter  and  eggs, 
at  a  price  which  leaves  nothing  to  be  desired,  —  imless  it  be  some  infor- 
mation as  to  cost  of  production.  Full  justice  is  done  to  the  new  coimtry 
life  when  the  Farmers'  Club  of  New  York  fulfills  its  chief  function,  —  the 
annual  dinner  at  Delmonico's.  Then  agriculture  is  extolled  in  fine  Vir- 
giUan  style,  the  Hudson  villa  and  the  Newport  cottage  being  permitted 
to  divide  the  honors  of  the  rural  revival  with  the  Long  Island  home. 
But  to  my  bucolic  intelligence  it  would  seem  that  against  the  "back-to- 
the-land "  movement  of  Saturday  afternoon  the  captious  critic  might  set 
the  rural  exodus  of  Monday  morning.^ 

A  few  magnificent  villas,  where  wealthy  townsmen  spend 
the  money  which  they  acquire  in  town,  will  not  help  to  solve 
the  problem  of  country  life  for  those  who  have  to  make  their 
living  from  the  soil,  except  where  wealth  is  combined  with 
taste,  tact,  and  sympathy.  If  these  qualities  are  absent, 
the  display  of  urban  magnificence  in  the  country  tends  rather 
to  increase  the  discontent  of  the  young  men  and  women  of 
the  neighborhood.  It  helps  to  create  the  impression  that  the 
only  satisfactory  way  to  live  in  the  country  is  to  go  to  town 
and  make  a  fortune,  and  then  come  back  to  the  country  to 
spend  it.  There  were  many  magnificent  villas  owned  by 
Roman  magnates  in  Italy,  even  in  the  very  worst  period  of 
rural  decline  under  the  Roman  Empire.  The  dominance  of 
the  city  was  so  complete  that  the  country  was  never  looked 
upon  as  a  place  in  which  to  live  unless  one  had  a  fortune  to 
spend  there.  Aside  from  its  function  of  furnishing  pleasing 
sites  for  villas,  the  country  was  regarded  merely  as  a  place 
where  the  city  could  get  supplies  of  food.  People  really  lived 
in  town.  In  fact,  this  dominance  of  the  town  over  the  country 
was  one  of  the  characteristics  of  ancient  civilization,  though 

^  The  Rural  Life  Problem  in  the  United  States  (New  York,  igio),  p.  152. 


PROBLEMS   OF   RURAL   SOCIAL  LIFE  87 

that  dominance  was  more  complete  at  certain  times  than  at 
others. 

On  this  point  the  following  passages  are  significant: 

Rome  was,  in  its  origin,  only  a  municipality,  a  corporation.  The 
government  of  Rome  was  merely  the  aggregate  of  the  institutions  which 
were  suited  to  a  population  confined  within  the  walls  of  a  city;  these 
were  municipal  institutions,  —  that  is  their  distinguishing  character.  This 
was  not  the  case  with  Rome  only.  If  we  turn  our  attention  to  Italy  at 
this  period,  we  find  around  Rome  nothing  but  towns.  That  which  was 
then  called  a  people  was  simply  a  confederation  of  towns.  The  Latin 
people  was  a  confederation  of  towns.  The  Etruscans,  the  Samnites,  the 
Sabines,  the  people  of  Grsecia  Magna,  may  all  be  described  in  the  same 
terms. 

There  was  at  this  time  no  country,  —  that  is  to  say,  the  country  was 
whoUy  unlike  that  which  at  present  exists;  it  was  cultivated,  as  was 
necessary,  but  it  was  uninhabited.  The  proprietors  of  lands  were  the  in- 
habitants of  the  towns.  They  went  forth  to  superintend  their  country 
properties,  and  often  took  with  them  a  certain  number  of  slaves;  but 
that  which  we  at  present  call  the  country,  that  thin  population  —  some- 
times in  isolated  habitations,  sometimes  in  villages  —  which  everywhere 
covers  the  soil,  was  a  fact  almost  unknown  in  ancient  Italy. 

When  Rome  extended  herself,  what  did  she  do?  Follow  history,  and 
you  will  see  that  she  conquered  or  founded  towns;  it  was  against  towns 
that  she  fought,  with  towns  that  she  contracted  alhances;  it  was  also  into 
towns  that  she  sent  colonies.  The  history  of  the  conquest  of  the  world 
by  Rome  is  the  history  of  the  conquest  and  foundation  of  a  great  num- 
ber of  towns.   .   .   . 

In  Gaul,  in  Spain,  you  meet  with  nothing  but  towns.  At  a  distance 
from  the  towns  the  territory  is  covered  with  marshes  and  forests. 
Examine  the  character  of  the  Roman  monuments,  of  the  Roman  roads. 
You  have  great  roads,  which  reach  from  one  city  to  another;  the  multi- 
plicity of  the  minor  roads,  which  now  cross  the  country  in  all  directions, 
was  then  unknown;  you  have  nothing  resembling  that  countless  number 
of  villages,  country  seats,  and  churches,  which  have  been  scattered  over 
the  country  since  the  Middle  Ages.  Rome  has  left  us  nothing  but  im- 
'  mensc  monuments,  stamped  with  the  municipal  character,  and  destined 
for  a  numerous  population  collected  upon  one  spot.  Under  whatever 
point  of  view  you  consider  the  Roman  world,  you  will  find  this  almost 
exclusive  preponderance  of  towns  and  the  social  nonexistence  of  the 
country.^ 

^  Guizot,  P.,  The  History  of  CmUzation  (London,  1856),  Vol.  I,  pp  27-29. 


88  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

The  establishment  of  the  feudal  system  produced  one  of  these  modifi- 
cations, of  unmistakable  importance;  it  altered  the  distribution  of  the 
population  over  the  face  of  the  land.  Hitherto  the  masters  of  the  soil, 
the  sovereign  population,  had  lived  united  in  more  or  less  numerous 
masses  of  men,  whether  sedentarily  in  cities,  or  wandering  in  bands 
through  the  country.  In  consequence  of  the  feudal  system  these  same 
men  lived  isolated,  each  in  his  own  habitation,  and  at  great  distances 
from  one  another.  You  will  immediately  perceive  how  much  influence 
this  change  was  calculated  to  exercise  upon  the  character  and  course  of 
civilization.  The  social  preponderance,  the  government  of  society,  passed 
suddenly  from  the  towns  to  the  country;  private  property  became  of 
more  importance  than  public  property;  private  life  than  public  life. 
Such  was  the  first  and  purely  material  effect  of  the  triumph  of  feudal 
society.  The  further  we  examine  into  it,  the  more  will  the  consequence 
of  this  single  fact  be  unfolded  to  our  eyes.^ 

Elsewhere  Guizot  points  out  the  well-known  fact  that  the 
rise  of  modern  civilization  is  again  reversing  the  order  and 
tending  to  concentrate  population,  wealth,  and  power  in  the 
cities,  and  to  emphasize  urban  rather  than  rural  ideals. 

Farming  vs.  Talking  as  a  Field  for  Ambition 

One  striking  evidence  of  the  general  dominance  of  urban 
over  rural  ideals  in  America  is  the  almost  total  indifference 
of  our  people  to  agriculture  as  a  field  of  distinguished  achieve- 
ment. Great  efficiency  in  the  practical  application  of  science 
to  agriculture,  or  in  the  organization  of  the  factors  of  agri- 
cultural production,  are  recognized  in  the  abstract  by  every 
thoughtful  person  as  of  the  highest  possible  value  to  the  coun- 
try as  a  whole;  but  in  the  concrete  we  pay  very  little  attention 
to  it.  The  ancient  remark  about  the  value  of  the  man  who 
makes  two  blades  of  grass  to  grow  where  one  had  grown  before, 
as  compared  with  the  politician  (or  the  talker),  we  approve' 
in  a  general  way,  but  specifically  we  think  a  great  deal  more 
of  the  talker.  The  man  who  applies  great  executive  ability 
and  scientific  knowledge  to  agriculture  may  get  good  crops 

^  Guizot,  F.,  The  History  of  Civilization  (London,  1856),  Vol.  I,  p.  68. 


PROBLEMS  OF   RURAL   SOCIAL  LIFE  89 

and  make  profit  for  himself;  he  may  also  win  local  recogni- 
tion, particularly  among  farmers;  but  unless  he  talks  or 
writes  about  it,  he  does  not  gain  general  recognition  among 
the  people  at  large.  In  proof  of  this,  let  any  one  look  through 
Who^s  Who  in  America,  which  is  supposed  to  contain  the  names 
of  those  who  have  achieved  marked  success  in  every  large 
field  of  human  endeavor.  Judging  by  its  pages,  either  agri- 
culture is  not  a  large  field  of  human  endeavor,  or  else  there  are 
no  markedly  successful  farmers.  Choosing  those  states  in 
which  agriculture  is  commonly  supposed  to  be  a  large  field  of 
endeavor,  we  find  in  the  edition  of  1 908-1 909  almost  no  farmers. 
The  number  of  distinguished  persons  connected  with  agri- 
culture and  allied  fields  of  work  is  as  follows: 

Maine,  i  farmer-manufacturer,  i  horticulturist  (at  the  State  University) 

Ohio,  I  agricultural  educator,  i  agriculturist 

Indiana,  i  arboriculturist 

Illinois,  I  farmer 

Iowa,  I  forester,  i  horticulturist  (both  in  the  State  CoUege  at  Ames), 

I  breeder,  i  farmer 
Kansas,  i  stockman,  i  i<-uit  grower 
Nebraska,  i  agricultural  educator,  i  forester,  i  farmer 

This  lack  of  recognition  of  the  farmer  is  not,  of  course, 
the  fault  of  the  editors  of  Who's  Who.  They  include  in  their 
publication  only  the  names  which  are  widely  known  or  talked 
about.  The  fact  that  an  eminently  successful  farmer  is  not 
widely  known  or  talked  about  is  due  to  the  fact  that  our 
people  have  no  interest  in  that  kind  of  achievement. 

Another  proof  of  the  same  thing  is  the  fact  that  almost  no 
farmer  has  secured,  in  recent  years,  any  political  recognition. 
Even  Mr.  Roosevelt,  with  all  his  enthusiasm  for  rural  uplift, 
consistently  preferred  the  man  who  talked  about  farming  to 
the  man  who  did  the  work  of  farming.  His  Rural  Life  Com- 
mission, for  example,  was  an  excellent  commission,  but  it  was 
not  made  up  of  farmers,  but  of  eminent  men  who  had  talked 
a  great  deal  and  very  wisely  about  agriculture  and  the  prob- 


90  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

lems  connected  with  it.  This  helps  to  explain  why  farmers 
were  generally  so  skeptical  as  to  the  results  of  the  commission's 
work. 

So  long  as  men  are  so  constituted  as  to  crave  distinction  and 
wide  public  esteem,  so  long  will  they  tend  to  avoid  an  occu- 
pation which  seems  to  furnish  no  opportunities  in  that  direc- 
tion. Until  our  esteem  for  the  farmer  ceases  to  be  merely 
an  approval  of  farming  in  the  abstract,  and  begins  to  show 
itself  in  the  form  of  an  appreciation  of  the  individual  farmer 
and  his  particular  achievement,  we  shall  not  accomplish  very 
much  in  the  way  of  checking  the  movement  of  the  more  am- 
bitious youths  toward  the  city. 

Absentee  Landlordism 

Next  to  war,  pestilence,  and  famine,  the  worst  thing  that 
can  happen  to  a  rural  community  is  absentee  landlordism. 
In  the  first  place,  the  rent  is  all  collected  and  sent  out  of  the 
neighborhood  to  be  spent  somewhere  else;  but  that  is  the 
least  of  the  evils.  In  the  second  place,  there  is  no  one  in 
the  neighborhood  who  has  any  permanent  interest  in  it  except 
as  a  source  of  income.  The  tenants  do  not  feel  like  spending 
any  time  or  money  in  beautification,  or  in  improving  the 
moral  or  social  surroundings.  Their  one  interest  is  to  get  as 
large  an  income  from  the  land  as  they  can  in  the  immediate 
present.  Because  they  do  not  live  there,  the  landlords  care 
nothing  for  the  community,  except  as  a  source  of  rent,  and 
they  will  not  spend  anything  in  local  improvements  unless 
they  see  that  it  will  increase  rent.  Therefore  such  a  com- 
munity looks  bad,  and  possesses  the  legal  minimum  in  the 
way  of  schools,  churches,  and  other  agencies  for  social  improve- 
ment. In  the  third  place,  and  worst  of  all,  the  landlords  and 
tenants  live  so  far  apart  and  see  one  another  so  infrequently 
as  to  furnish  very  little  opportunity  for  mutual  acquaintance 
and  understanding.  Therefore  class  antagonism  arises,  and 
bitterness  of  feeling  shows  itself  in  a  variety  of  ways.     Where 


PROBLEMS  OF   RUR.\L   SOCL\L  LIFE  91 

the  whole  neighborhood  is  made  up  of  a  tenant  class  which 
feels  hostile  toward  the  absent-landlord  class,  evasions  of 
all  kinds  are  resorted  to  in  order  to  beat  the  hated  landlords. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  landlords  are  goaded  to  retaliation, 
and  the  rack-rent  system  prevails.  Sometimes  the  community 
feeling  among  tenants  becomes  so  strong  as  to  develop  a  kind 
of  artificial  "tenant  right,"  which  is  in  opposition  to  the  laws 
of  the  land,  and  the  laws  of  the  land  are  then  made  more  severe 
in  order  to  control  the  "tenant  right."  ^ 

Even  where  the  class  antagonism  is  not  carried  to  this 
extreme,  there  is  a  wasteful  expenditure  of  human  energy 
in  the  efforts  of  one  class  to  circumvent  the  other,  and  the 
attractiveness  and  dignity  of  rural  life  are  destroyed  by  the 
jealousy  and  rancor  thus  created. 

In  this  country  we  are  accustomed  to  look  \\ath  disfavor 
upon  any  system  of  tenancy;  but  whatever  may  be  said  of 
tenancy  as  such,  there  is  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  the  worst 
possible  system  is  that  under  which  the  landowner  lives  at 
a  distance  and  maintains  no  connection  with  the  land  except 
as  a  receiver  of  rent.  Where  the  landlord  lives  upon  his  own 
estate  and  takes  an  interest  in  it,  the  worst  features  of  tenancy 
disappear.  The  landowner's  interest  in  his  ovv-n  home  creates 
in  him  an  attitude  toward  the  rural  neighborhood  which  is 
quite  different  from  that  of  the  absentee. 

The  Resideyit  Landlord  as  Leader 

Besides,  there  are  some  advantages  in  a  system  which  gives 
the  large  landowner  a  chance  to  devote  his  time  to  broad 

^  In  some  parts  of  France,  under  the  old  regime,  the  tenants  would 
combine  to  fix  rents  and  to  prevent  newcomers  from  renting  land.  The 
tenant  would  even  sell  his  "right,"  or  bequeath  it  to  his  son,  very  much  as 
though  he  o^vned  the  land.  Any  one  else  who  would  lease  the  land  so 
bequeathed,  or  interfere  with  the  son's  possession,  would  be  liable  to  injury 
or  murder.  The  laws  of  the  country  were  ineffective  against  this  deter- 
mined stand  of  the  tenants. 


92  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

schemes  of  improvement  while  his  tenants  are  completely 
occupied  with  the  immediate  problem  of  growing  crops.  This 
is  the  one  serious  disadvantage  of  the  American  type  of  agri- 
culture under  which  the  land  is  owned  by  small-  or  medium- 
scale  farmers  who  do  their  own  w^ork.  No  one  has  the  time 
or  the  surplus  capital  to  carry  on  elaborate  experimenting, 
extensive  drainage  operations,  or  similar  large-scale  improve- 
ments. Under  the  English  system  the  large  landed  proprietors 
have  led  in  most  of  these  progressive  movements,  without 
waiting  for  a  general  public  awakening.  In  the  United  States, 
and  other  countries  of  small  proprietors,  these  enterprises 
have  been  carried  on  either  by  the  state  or  by  cooperative 
enterprises.  These  methods  are  excellent  in  themselves, 
but  they  are  necessarily  slower  than  the  English  method,  for 
the  simple  and  sufficient  reason  that  the  general  public  is 
always  slower  than  a  few  of  its  most  intelligent  individuals. 
At  the  present  time,  in  the  United  States,  the  federal  Depart- 
ment of  Agriculture,  the  state  agricultural  colleges,  and  the 
experiment  stations  are  carrying  on  this  kind  of  work  on  a 
more  elaborate  scale  than  is  possible  for  a  group  of  individual 
proprietors,  however  large  their  estates,  though  much  pioneer 
work  was  done  on  great  English  estates. 

Another  advantage  of  the  tenancy  system,  as  it  exists  in 
England,  is  that  it  furnishes  a  kind  of  organization  of  agri- 
cultural interests,  —  or  at  least  a  very  good  substitute  for 
organization.  A  great  landowner  living  on  his  estate,  and 
interested  in  its  prosperity,  is  a  natural  leader  and  organizer 
of  the  rural  community  consisting  of  his  tenants.  It  is  every- 
where recognized  in  the  United  States  that  the  great  difficulty 
in  the  way  of  organization  of  rural  communities  is  the  lack  of 
leaders.  If  this  difficulty  is  still  further  accentuated  by  a 
feeling  of  jealousy,  as  is  too  frequently  the  case,  among  the 
farmers  of  a  neighborhood,  the  problem  of  organization  is 
well-nigh  insoluble.  Unless  the  country  church  can  remove 
this  feeling  of  jealousy  and  suspicion  by  the  effective  preach- 


PROBLEMS   OF   RURAL   SOCLAL  LIFE  93 

ing  of  a  gospel  of  brotherhood,  it  is  difficult  to  see  what  can 
be  done  for  such  a  neighborhood.  With  the  well-known 
efficiency  of  our  agricultural  colleges  and  experiment  stations, 
and  of  our  national  Department  of  Agriculture,  we  have  done 
a  great  deal  to  remove  the  one  disadvantage  of  the  system  of 
detached,  one-family  farming.  If  we  can,  in  addition,  bring 
about  an  effective  organization  of  our  rural  interests,  we  shall 
have  all  the  advantages  and  none  of  the  disadvantages  of 
the  system  of  tenancy  under  large  proprietors. 

Organization  for  a  Purpose,  or  Organization  for  its 
Own  Sake 

It  is  extremely  unlikely  that  any  effective  or  permanent 
organization  of  rural  interests  can  ever  be  brought  about 
without  some  pretty  definite  object  to  be  accomplished. 
Organization  for  organization's  sake  is  a  poor  program.  Again, 
it  is  extremely  unlikely  that  any  single  object,  or  group  of 
objects,  can  be  made  the  basis  of  a  national  organization.  Our 
agricultural  interests  are  too  diverse  for  that.  All  attempts 
to  form  a  general  homogeneous  organization  of  the  farmers 
of  the  country  will  probably  fail,  as  they  have  hitherto.  This 
points  unmistakably  to  the  organization  of  local  interests 
for  definite  purposes.  When  several  farmers  in  a  certain 
locality  have  a  clear  and  definite  purpose  to  accomplish,  they 
have  no  difficulty  in  organizing  for  that  purpose.  One  of  the 
best  examples  of  this  is  the  California  Fruit  Growers  Exchange. 
A  large  number  of  fruit  growers,  seeing  that  they  must  organize 
their  marketing  arrangements  or  become  bankrupt,  had  a 
sufficient  motive.  The  question  of  leadership  solves  itself 
under  such  conditions.  The  man  who  knows  how  to  do  what 
everybody  wants  done  is  a  leader  by  the  only  kind  of  divine 
right,  —  namely,  natural  fitness.  An  illustration  of  the  same 
principle  on  a  smaller  scale  is  furnished  by  the  farmers  of  a 
certain   New   Hampshire   township,    who   needed   a   market. 


94  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

They  organized  and  opened  a  store  in  Cambridge,  Massa- 
chusetts, to  which  they  sent  their  produce.  In  this  case  the 
leader  was  a  country  pastor.  A  multitude  of  other  examples, 
large  and  small,  could  be  named,  all  illustrating  the  same 
principle,  namely,  that  the  organization  must  be  local  to  begin 
with,  and  that  it  must  have  a  clear  and  definite  object  to 
accomplish. 

The  organization  of  rural  interests  need  not,  however, 
remain  local  and  scattered.  They  may  be  federated.  Those 
who  are  interested  in  rural  organization  may  well  take  lessons 
from  the  organizers  of  the  labor  movement.  The  attempt  to 
form  a  general,  homogeneous  organization  of  all  laboring 
men  had  a  promising  beginning  in  the  Knights  of  Labor, 
but  it  lacked  the  element  of  definiteness  and  of  local  unity. 
Its  influence,  therefore,  waned  rapidly,  whereas  the  American 
Federation  of  Labor  rose  to  great  prominence,  power,  and 
influence.  Organizing  local  unions  among  members  of  each 
separate  trade,  and  then  federating  these  unions,  leaving  to 
each  a  great  deal  of  independence  and  local  autonomy,  this 
movement  has  proceeded  on  sound  principles  of  organiza- 
tion. This  points  to  the  principle  of  federation  as  the  correct 
one  upon  which  to  attempt  the  general  organization  of  rural 
interests.  A  beginning  is  already  made  in  the  various  local 
and  special  organizations  scattered  over  the  country.  If 
these  can  be  federated  into  state  and  national  organizations, 
leaving  each  local  body  independent  and  autonomous,  at 
least  so  far  as  its  own  special  objects  are  concerned,  a  move- 
ment may  be  started  which  will  do  for  farmers  what  the  Amer- 
ican Federation  of  Labor  has  done  for  wageworkers,  though 
the  active  program  need  not  be  the  same. 

It  cannot  be  too  much  emphasized,  however,  that  any 
organization  whose  objects  are  not  constructive,  and  designed 
to  promote  the  welfare  of  the  country  as  a  whole,  is  foredoomed 
to  ultimate  failure,  because  it  ought  to  fail.  It  is  for  the 
interest  of  the  country  as  a  whole  that  the  supply  of  fruit 


PROBLEMS  OF   RURAL   SOCIAL  LIFE  95 

should  be  adjusted  to  the  demand,  and  that  there  should  not 
be  a  glut  in  one  market  while  there  is  a  scarcity  in  another, 
A  fruit-growers'  exchange,  by  organizing  the  shipping  and 
selling  of  its  fruit  so  as  to  bring  about  a  more  uniform  and 
equal  adjustment  of  the  supply  to  the  demand,  is  performing 
a  productive  function  for  the  country  as  a  whole,  and  deserves 
success.  When  it  begins  to  abuse  its  power  and,  instead  of 
adjusting  the  supply  to  the  demand,  undertakes  merely  to 
charge  monopoly  prices,  it  will  deserve  to  fail,  and  will  even- 
tually fail.  The  same  may  be  said  of  an  organization  of  dairy- 
men, market  gardeners,  cotton  growers,  etc.  However,  it 
is  not  necessary  that  such  organizations  should  be  philan- 
thropic. On  the  contrary,  it  is  probably  better  that  they 
should  be  strictly  self-interested;  but  it  is  essential  that  self- 
interest  should  be  followed  in  economic  rather  than  in  un- 
economic ways,  as  these  terms  were  defined  in  Chapter  I. 
To  attempt  to  promote  one's  self-interest  in  a  way  which 
contributes  to  the  productivity  of  the  whole  country  is  to 
deserve  success;  to  attempt  to  promote  it  in  any  other  way 
is  to  deserve  failure.  That  is  why  cooperative  enterprises, 
when  actuated  by  mere  jealousy  of  some  storekeeper,  or  of 
any  one  else  who  is  doing  useful  and  honest  work,  usually 
fail.  But  cooperative  enterprises  which  attempt  something 
constructive,  like  the  starting  of  a  new  industry,  the  opening 
of  a  new  market,  or  the  prevention  of  real  waste,  and  are 
therefore  actuated  by  a  higher  motive  than  hate  or  jealousy, 
are  usually  successful,  and  redound  to  the  interest  and  profit 
of  the  participants. 

This  part  of  our  discussion  may  be  summed  up  by  saying 
that  until  our  rural  interests  become  organized  our  rural  life 
will  continue  to  be  dominated  by  urban  interests,  urban 
standards,  urban  ideals,  and  that  this  will  leave  rural  life  in 
a  weak  and  undignified  position.  Furthermore,  it  will  not 
be  easy  to  organize  rural  interests  in  any  single  homogeneous 
organization,  because  our  agricultural  interests  are  too  diverse 


96  THOMAS  NIXON  CARVER 

and  heterogeneous;  but  the  organization  must  proceed  through 
the  formation  of  local  associations  having  definite,  tangible, 
and  constructive  aims,  and  the  gradual  federation  of  these 
local  organizations  into  a  general  organization  combining 
unity  and  solidarity  with  diversity  and  local  autonomy. 


THE   WAY  TO   BETTER   FARMING  AND 
BETTER   LIVING  1 

Sir  Horace  Plunkett 

In  no  way  is  the  contrast  between  rural  and  urban  civiliza- 
tion more  marked  than  in  the  application  of  the  teachings  of 
modern  science  to  their  respective  industries.  Even  the  most 
important  mechanical  inventions  were  rather  forced  upon  the 
farmer  by  the  efficient  selling  organization  of  the  city  manu- 
facturers than  demanded  by  him  as  a  result  of  good  instruction 
in  farming.  On  the  mammoth  wheat  farms,  where,  as  the 
fable  ran,  the  plough  that  started  out  one  morning  returned 
on  the  adjoining  furrow  the  following  day,  mechanical  science 
was  indeed  called  in,  but  only  to  perpetrate  the  greatest 
soil  robbery  in  agricultural  history.  Application  of  science 
to  legitimate  agriculture  is  comparatively  new.  In  my  ranch- 
ing and  farming  days  I  well  remember  how  general  was  the 
disbelief  in  its  practical  value  throughout  the  Middle  and  Far 
West.  In  cowboy  terminology,  all  scientists  were  classified 
as  "bug-hunters,"  and  farmers  generally  had  no  use  for  the 
theorist.  The  non-agricultural  community  had  naturally 
no  higher  appreciation  of  the  farmer's  calling  than  he  himself 
displayed.  When  some  Universities  first  developed  agricul- 
tural courses,  the  students  who  entered  for  them  were  nick- 
named "aggies,"  and  were  not  regarded  as  adding  much  to  the 
dignity  of  a  seat  of  higher  learning.  The  Department  of 
Agriculture  was  looked  upon  as  a  source  of  jobs,  graft  being 
the  nearest  approach  to  any  known  agricultural  operation. 

^  Copyright.  Reprinted  from  The  Rural  Life  Problem  of  the  United 
Stales  by  permission  of  the  Macmillan  Company. 


98  SIR  HORACE  PLUNKETT 

All  this  is  changing  fast.  The  Federal  Department  of 
Agriculture  is  now  perhaps  the  most  popular  and  respected  of 
the  world's  great  administrative  institutions.  In  the  Middle 
West,  a  newly  awakened  public  opinion  has  set  up  an  honour- 
able rivalry  between  such  States  as  Wisconsin,  Iowa,  Illinois, 
Nebraska  and  Minnesota,  in  developing  the  agricultural 
sides  of  their  Universities  and  Colleges.  None  the  less,  Mr. 
James  J.  Hill  has  recently  given  it  as  his  opinion  that  not  more 
than  one  per  cent  of  the  farmers  of  these  regions  are  working 
in  direct  touch  with  any  educational  institution.  It  is  prob- 
able that  this  estimate  leaves  out  of  account  the  indirect 
influence  of  the  vast  amount  of  extension  work  and  itinerant 
instruction  which  is  embraced  in  the  activities  of  the  Univer- 
sities and  Colleges.  I  fear  it  cannot  be  denied  that  in  the 
application  of  the  natural  sciences  to  the  practical,  and  of 
economic  science  to  the  business  of  farming,  the  country  folk 
are  decades  behind  their  urban  fellow-citizens.  And  again 
I  say  the  disparity  is  to  be  attributed  to  the  difference  in  their 
respective  degrees  of  organization  for  business  purposes. 

The  relation  between  business  organization  and  economic 
progress  ought,  I  submit,  to  be  very  seriously  considered  by 
the  social  workers  who  perceive  that  progress  is  mainly  a 
question  of  education.  Speaking  from  administrative  experi- 
ence at  home,  and  from  a  good  deal  of  interested  observation 
in  America,  I  am  firmly  convinced  that  the  new  rural  educa- 
tion is  badly  handicapped  by  the  lack  of  organized  bodies  of 
farmers  to  act  as  channels  for  the  new  knowledge  now  made 
available.  In  some  instances,  I  am  aware,  great  good  has 
been  done  by  the  formation  of  farmers'  institutes  which  have 
been  established  in  order  to  interest  rural  communities  in 
educational  work  and  to  make  the  local  arrangements  for 
instruction  by  lectures,  demonstrations,  and  otherwise.  But 
all  European  experience  proves  the  superiority  for  this  pur- 
pose of  the  business  association  (which,  by  the  way,  has  a 
much  better  permanence)  to  the  organization  ad  hoc. 


THE  WAY  TO  BETTER  FARMING  99 

Again,  the  influence  upon  rural  life  of  the  agricultural 
teaching  of  the  Colleges  and  Universities,  as  exercised  to 
their  pupils,  may  be  too  easily  accepted  as  being  of  greater 
potential  utility  than  any  work  which  these  institutions  can 
do  amongst  adults.  This  is  a  mistake.  The  thousands  of 
young  men  who  are  now  being  trained  for  advanced  farming 
too  often  have  to  restrict  the  practical  application  of  their 
theoretic  knowledge  to  the  home  circle,  which  is  not  always 
responsive,  for  a  man  is  not  usually  a  prophet  in  his  own 
family.  It  is  here  that  the  educational  value  of  co5perative 
societies  comes  in;  they  act  as  agencies  through  which  scien- 
tific teaching  may  become  actual  practice,  not  in  the  uncertain 
future,  but  in  the  living  present.  A  cooperative  association 
has  a  quality  which  should  commend  it  to  the  social  reformer 
—  the  power  of  evoking  character;  it  brings  to  the  front  a 
new  type  of  local  leader,  not  the  best  talker,  but  the  man  whose 
knowledge  enables  him  to  make  some  solid  contribution  to 
the  welfare  of  the  community. 

I  come  now  to  the  last  part  of  the  threefold  scheme  —  that 
which  aims  at  a  better  life  upon  the  farm.  The  cooperative 
association,  in  virtue  of  its  non-capitalistic  basis  of  constitu- 
tion and  procedure  (which,  as  I  have  explained,  distinguishes 
it  from  the  joint  stock  company),  demands  as  a  condition  of 
its  business  success  the  exercise  of  certain  social  qualities  of 
inestimable  value  to  the  community  life.  It  is  for  this  reason, 
no  doubt,  that  where  men  and  women  have  learned  to  work 
together  under  this  system  in  the  business  of  their  lives,  they 
are  easily  induced  to  use  their  organization  for  social  and 
intellectual  purposes  also. 

The  new  organization  of  the  rural  community  for  social 
as  well  as  economic  purposes,  which  would  follow  from  the 
acceptance  of  the  opinion  I  have  advanced,  would  bring 
with  it  the  first  effective  counter-attraction  to  the  towns. 
Their  material  advantages  the  country  cannot  hope  to  rival; 
nor  can  any  conceivable  evolution  of  rural  life  furnish  a  real 


loo  SIR  HORACE  PLUNKETT 

counterpart  to  the  cheap  and  garish  entertainments  of  the 
modern  city.  Take,  for  example,  the  extravagant  use  of 
electric  light  for  purposes  of  advertisement,  which  affords 
a  nightly  display  of  fireworks  in  any  active  business  street 
of  an  American  city  far  superior  to  the  occasional  exhibition 
at  the  Crystal  Palace  in  London,  which  was  the  rare  treat  of 
my  childhood  days.  These  delights  — if  such  they  be  — cannot 
be  extended  into  remote  villages  in  Kansas  or  Nebraska;  but 
their  enchantment  must  be  reckoned  with  by  those  who  would 
remold  the  life  of  the  open  country  and  make  it  morally  and 
mentally  satisfying  to  those  who  are  born  to  it,  or  who,  but  for 
its  social  stagnation,  would  prefer  a  rural  to  an  urban  existence. 

In  one  of  his  many  public  references  to  country  life,  Presi- 
dent Roosevelt  attributed  the  rural  exodus  to  the  desire  of 
"the  more  active  and  restless  young  man  and  woman"  to 
escape  from  "loneliness  and  lack  of  mental  companionship." 
He  is  hopeful  that  the  rural  free  delivery,  the  telephone,  the 
bicycle  and  the  trolley  will  do  much  towards  "lessening  the 
isolation  of  farm  life  and  making  it  brighter  and  more  attract- 
ive." Many  to  whom  I  have  spoken  on  this  subject  fear 
that  the  linking  of  the  country  with  the  town  by  these  applica- 
tions of  modern  science  may,  to  some  extent,  operate  in  a 
direction  the  opposite  of  that  which  Mr.  Roosevelt  anticipates 
and  desires.  According  to  this  view,  the  more  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  modern  city  may  increase  the  desire  to  be 
in  personal  touch  with  it;  the  telephone  may  fail  to  give 
through  the  ear  the  satisfaction  which  is  demanded  by  the 
eye;  among  the  "more  active  and  restless  young  men  and 
women"  the  rural  free  delivery  may  circulate  the  dime  novel 
and  the  trolley  make  accessible  the  dime  museum.  In  the 
total  result  the  occasional  visit  may  become  more  and  more 
frequent,  until  the  duties  of  country  life  are  first  neglected 
and  then  abandoned. 

I  do  not  feel  competent  to  decide  between  these  two  views, 
but  I  offer  one  consideration  with  which  I  think  many  rural 


THE  WAY  TO  BETTER  FARMING     loi 

reformers  will  agree.  The  attempt  to  bring  the  advantages 
of  the  city  within  the  reach  of  the  dwellers  in  the  country 
cannot,  of  itself,  counteract  the  townward  tendency  in  so 
far  as  it  is  due  to  the  causes  summarized  above.  However 
rapidly,  in  this  respect,  the  country  may  be  improved,  the 
city  is  sure  to  advance  more  rapidly  and  the  gap  between 
them  to  be  widened.  The  new  rural  civilization  should  aim 
at  trying  to  develop  in  the  country  the  things  of  the  country, 
the  very  existence  of  which  seems  to  have  been  forgotten. 
But,  after  all,  it  is  the  world  within  us  rather  than  the  world 
without  us  that  matters  in  the  making  of  society,  and  I  must 
give  to  the  social  influence  of  the  cooperative  idea  what  I 
believe  to  be  its  real  importance. 

In  Ireland,  from  which  so  much  of  my  experience  is  drawn, 
we  have  found  a  tendency  growing  among  farmers  whose 
combinations  are  successful,  to  gather  into  one  strong  local 
association  all  those  varied  objects  and  activities  which  I 
have  described  as  advocated  by  the  Irish  Agricultural  Organ- 
ization Society.  These  local  associations  are  ceasing  to  have 
one  special  purpose  or  one  object  only.  They  absorb  more 
and  more  of  the  business  of  the  district.  One  large,  well- 
organized  institution  is  being  substituted  for  the  numerous 
petty  transactions  of  farmers  with  middlemen  and  small 
country  traders.  Gradually  the  Society  becomes  the  most 
important  institution  in  the  district,  the  most  important  in 
a  social  as  well  as  in  an  economic  sense.  The  members  feel 
a  pride  in  its  material  expansion.  They  accumulate  large 
profits,  which  in  time  become  a  kind  of  communal  fund.  In 
some  cases  this  is  used  for  the  erection  of  village  halls  where 
social  entertainments,  concerts  and  dances  are  held,  lectures 
delivered  and  libraries  stored.  Finally,  the  association 
assumes  the  character  of  a  rural  commune,  where,  instead  of 
the  old  basis  of  the  commune,  the  joint  ownership  of  land, 
a  new  basis  for  union  is  found  in  the  voluntary  communism 
of  effort. 


102  SIR  HORACE  PLUNKETT 

A  true  social  organism  is  thus  being  created  with  common 
human  and  economic  interests,  and  the  clan  feeling,  which 
was  so  powerful  an  influence  in  early  and  medieval  civiliza- 
tions, with  all  its  power  of  generating  passionate  loyalties, 
is  born  anew  in  the  modern  world.  Our  ancient  Irish  records 
show  little  clans  with  a  common  ownership  of  land  hardly 
larger  than  a  parish,  but  with  all  the  patriotic  feeling  of  large 
nations  held  with  an  intensity  rare  in  our  modern  states. 
The  history  of  these  clans  and  of  very  small  nations  like  the 
ancient  Greek  states  shows  that  the  social  feeling  assumes  its 
most  binding  and  powerful  character  where  the  community 
is  large  enough  to  allow  free  play  to  the  various  interests  of 
human  life,  but  is  not  so  large  that  it  becomes  an  abstraction 
to  the  imagination.  Most  of  us  feel  no  greater  thrill  in  being 
one  of  a  State  with  fifty  million  inhabitants  than  we  do  in 
recognizing  we  are  citizens  of  the  solar  system.  The  rural 
commune  and  the  very  small  States  exhibit  the  feeling  of 
human  solidarity  in  its  most  intense  manifestations,  working 
on  itself,  regenerating  itself  and  seeking  its  own  perfection. 
Combinations  of  agriculturists,  when  the  rural  organization 
is  complete,  re-create  in  a  new  way  the  conditions  where 
these  social  instincts  germinate  best,  and  it  is  only  by  this 
complete  organization  of  rural  life  that  we  can  hope  to  build 
up  a  rural  civilization,  and  create  those  counter-attractions 
to  urban  life  which  will  stay  the  exodus  from  the  land. 

I  do  not  wish  to  exaggerate  even  the  interest  which  the 
rural  life  of  my  own  little  island  may  have  for  those  who  are 
concerned  for  the  vast  and  wealthy  expanses  of  the  American 
farm  lands.  But,  even  in  the  United  States,  I  have  seen  the 
really  simple  life,  which  in  its  commonest  manifestation  is  a 
thing  that  rather  simple  people  talk  about.  In  a  properly 
organized  rural  neighborhood  could  be  developed  that  higher 
kind  of  attraction  which  is  suggested  by  the  very  word  neigh- 
bourhood. Once  get  the  farmers  and  their  families  all  working 
together  at  something  that  concerns  them  all,  and  we  have 


THE  WAY  TO  BETTER  FARMING     103 

the  beginning  of  a  more  stable  and  a  more  social  community 
than  is  likely  to  exist  amid  the  constant  change  and  bustle 
of  the  large  towns,  where  indeed  some  thinkers  tell  us  that 
not  only  the  family,  but  also  the  social  life,  is  badly  breaking 
down.  When  people  are  really  interested  in  each  other  — 
and  this  interest  comes  of  habitually  working  together  — 
the  smallest  personal  traits  or  events  affecting  one  are  of 
interest  to  all.  The  simplest  piece  of  amateur  acting  or 
singing,  done  in  the  village  hall  by  one  of  the  villagers,  will 
arouse  more  criticism  and  more  enthusiasm  among  his  friends 
and  neighbours  than  can  be  excited  by  the  most  consummate 
performance  of  a  professional  in  a  great  city  theatre,  where 
no  one  in  the  audience  knows  or  cares  for  the  performer. 

But  if  this  attraction  —  the  attraction  of  common  work 
and  social  intercourse  with  a  circle  of  friends  —  is  to  prevail 
in  the  long  run  over  the  lure  which  the  city  offers  to  eye  and 
ear  and  pocket,  there  must  be  a  change  in  rural  education. 
At  present  country  children  are  educated  as  if  for  the  purpose 
of  driving  them  into  the  towns.  To  the  pleasure  which  the 
cultured  city  man  feels  in  the  country  —  because  he  has  been 
taught  to  feel  it  —  the  country  child  is  insensible.  The 
country  offers  continual  interest  to  the  mind  which  has  been 
trained  to  be  thoughtful  and  observant;  the  town  offers 
continual  distraction  to  the  vacant  eye  and  brain.  Yet,  the 
education  given  to  country  children  has  been  invented  for 
them  in  the  town,  and  it  not  only  bears  no  relation  to  the 
life  they  are  to  lead,  but  actually  attracts  them  towards  a 
town  career.  I  am  aware  that  I  am  here  on  ground  where 
angels  —  even  if  specialized  in  pedagogy  —  may  well  fear  to 
tread.  Upon  the  principles  of  a  sound  agricultural  educa- 
tion pedagogues  are  in  a  normally  violent  state  of  disagree- 
ment with  each  other.  But  whatever  compromise  between 
general  education  and  technical  instruction  be  adopted,  the 
resulting  reform  that  is  needed  has  two  sides.  We  want  two 
changes  in  the  rural  mind  —  not  omitting  the  rural  teacher's 


I04  SIR  HORACE   PLUNKETT 

mind.  First,  the  interest  which  the  physical  environment 
of  the  farmer  provides  to  followers  of  almost  every  branch 
of  science  must  be  communicated  to  the  agricultural  classes 
according  to  their  capacities.  Second,  that  intimacy  with 
and  affection  for  nature,  to  which  Wordsworth  has  given  the 
highest  expression,  must  in  some  way  be  engendered  in  the 
rural  mind.  In  this  way  alone  will  the  countryman  come  to 
realize  the  beauty  of  the  life  around  him,  as  through  the  teach- 
ing of  silence  he  will  learn  to  realize  its  truth. 

Upon  this  reformed  education,  as  a  basis,  the  rural  economy 
must  be  built.  It  must,  if  my  view  be  accepted,  ensure,  first 
and  foremost,  the  combination  of  farmers  for  business  pur- 
poses in  such  a  manner  as  will  enable  them  to  control  their 
own  marketing  and  make  use  of  the  many  advantages  which 
a  command  of  capital  gives.  In  all  European  countries  — 
with  the  exception  of  the  British  Isles  —  statesmen  have 
recognized  the  national  necessity  for  the  good  business  organ- 
ization of  the  farmer.  In  some  cases,  for  example  France, 
even  Government  officials  expound  the  cooperative  principle. 
In  Denmark,  the  most  predominantly  rural  country  in  Europe, 
the  education  both  in  the  common  and  in  the  high  school 
has  long  been  so  admirably  related  to  the  working  lives  of 
the  agricultural  classes  that  the  people  adopt  spontaneously 
the  methods  of  organization  which  the  commercial  instinct 
they  have  acquired  through  education  tells  them  to  be  suit- 
able to  the  conditions.  The  rural  reformer  knows  that  this 
is  the  better  way;  but  our  problem  is  not  merely  the  educa- 
tion of  a  rising,  but  the  development  of  a  grown-up  generation. 
We  cannot  wait  for  the  slow  process  of  education  to  produce 
its  effect  upon  the  mind  of  the  rural  youth,  even  if  there  were 
any  way  of  ensuring  their  proper  training  for  a  progressive 
rural  life  without  first  giving  to  their  parents  such  education 
as  they  can  assimilate.  Direct  action  is  called  for;  we  have 
to  work  with  adult  farmers  and  induce  them  to  reorganize 
their  business  upon  the  lines  which  I  have  attempted  to  define. 


THE  WAY  TO  BETTER  FARMING  105 

Moreover,  this  is  essential  to  the  future  success  of  the  work 
done  in  the  schools,  in  order  that  the  trained  mind  of  youth 
may  not  afterwards  find  itself  balked  by  the  ignorant  apathy 
or  lazy  conservatism  of  its  elders. 

I  hold,  then,  that  the  new  economy  will  mean  a  more  sci- 
entific mastery  of  the  technical  side  of  farming,  when  farmers 
will  make  a  much  larger  use  of  the  advice,  instruction  and 
help  which  the  Nation  and  the  States  ofifer  them  through  the 
Department  of  Agriculture  and  the  Colleges.  It  is  equally 
certain  that  there  will  arise  a  more  human  social  life  in  the 
rural  districts,  based  upon  the  greater  share  of  the  products 
of  the  farmer's  industry,  which  the  new  business  organization 
will  enable  him  to  retain;  stimulated  by  the  closer  business 
relations  with  his  fellows  which  that  organization  will  bring 
about,  and  fostered  by  the  closer  neighbourhood  which  is 
implied  in  a  more  extensive  cultivation. 

The  development  of  a  more  intensive  cultivation  must  carry 
with  it  a  much  more  careful  consideration  of  the  labour  prob- 
lem. The  difficulty  of  getting  and  keeping  labour  on  the 
farm  is  a  commonplace.  I  think  farmers  have  not  faced  the 
fact  that  this  difficulty  is  due  in  the  main  to  their  own  way 
of  doing  their  business.  Competent  men  will  not  stay  at  farm 
labour  unless  it  offers  them  continuous  employment  as  part 
of  a  well-ordered  business  concern;  and  this  is  not  possible 
unless  with  a  greatly  improved  husbandry. 

To-day  agriculture  has  to  compete  in  the  labour  market 
against  other,  and  to  many  men  more  attractive,  industries, 
and  a  marked  elevation  in  the  whole  standard  of  life  in  the 
rural  world  is  the  best  insurance  of  a  better  supply  of  good 
farm  labour.  Only  an  intensive  system  of  farming  can  afford 
any  large  amount  of  permanent  employment  at  decent  wages 
to  the  rural  labourer,  and  only  a  good  supply  of  competent 
labour  can  render  intensive  farming  on  any  large  scale  prac- 
ticable. But  the  intensive  system  of  farming  not  only  gives 
regular  employment  and  good  wages;  it  also  fits  the  labourer 


io6  SIR  HORACE  PLUNKETT 

of  to-day  —  in  a  country  where  a  man  can  strike  out  for  him- 
self —  to  be  the  successful  farmer  of  to-morrow.  Nor,  in 
these  days  of  impersonal  industrial  relations,  should  the  fact 
be  overlooked  that  under  an  intensive  system  of  agriculture, 
we  find  still  preserved  the  kindly  personal  relation  between 
employer  and  employed  which  contributes  both  to  the  pleas- 
antness of  life  and  to  economic  progress  and  security. 

Moreover,  in  a  country  where  advanced  farming  is  the  rule, 
there  is  a  remarkable,  and,  from  the  standpoint  of  national 
stability,  most  valuable,  steadiness  in  employment.  Good 
farming,  by  fixing  the  labourer  on  the  soil,  improves  the 
general  condition  of  rural  life,  by  ridding  the  countryside  of 
most  of  its  present  pests.  Those  wandering  dervishes  of 
the  industrial  world,  the  hobo,  the  tramp  —  the  entire  family 
of  Weary  Willies  and  Tired  Timothys  —  will  no  longer  have 
even  an  imaginary  excuse  for  their  troubled  and  troublesome 
existence.  But  the  farmer  who  was  the  prey  of  these  pests 
must,  if  he  would  be  permanently  rid  of  them,  learn  to  respect 
his  hired  farm  hand.  He  must  provide  him  with  a  com- 
fortable and  a  modest  garden  plot  upon  which  his  young 
family  may  employ  themselves;  otherwise,  whatever  the 
farmer  may  do  to  attract  labour,  he  will  never  retain  it.  In 
short,  the  labourer,  too,  must  get  his  full  and  fair  share  of 
the  prosperity  of  the  coming  good  time  in  the  country. 

There  is  one  particular  aspect  of  this  improved  social  life 
which  is  so  important  that  it  ought  properly  to  form  the  sub- 
ject of  a  separate  essay;  I  mean  the  position  of  women  in 
rural  life.  In  no  country  in  the  world  is  the  general  position 
of  woman  better,  or  her  influence  greater,  than  in  the  United 
States.  But  while  woman  has  played  a  great  part  there  in 
the  social  life  and  economic  development  of  the  town,  I  hold 
that  the  part  she  is  destined  to  play  in  the  future  making  of 
the  country  will  be  even  greater. 

In  the  more  intelligent  scheme  of  the  new  country  life, 
the  economic  position  of  woman  is  likely  to  be  one  of  high 


THE  WAY  TO  BETTER  FARMING      107 

importance.  She  enters  largely  into  all  three  parts  of  our 
programme,  —  better  farming,  better  business,  better  living. 
In  the  development  of  higher  farming,  for  instance,  she  is 
better  fitted  than  the  more  muscular  but  less  patient  animal, 
man,  to  carry  on  with  care  that  work  of  milk  records,  egg 
records,  etc.,  which  underlies  the  selection  on  scientific  lines 
of  the  more  productive  strains  of  cattle  and  poultry.  And 
this  kind  of  work  is  wanted  in  the  study  not  only  of  animal, 
but  also  of  plant  life. 

Again,  in  the  sphere  of  better  business,  the  housekeeping 
faculty  of  woman  is  an  important  asset,  since  a  good  system 
of  farm  accounts  is  one  of  the  most  valuable  aids  to  successful 
farming.  But  it  is,  of  course,  in  the  third  part  of  the  pro- 
gramme—  better  living,  —  that  woman's  greatest  opportunity 
lies.  The  woman  makes  the  home  life  of  the  Nation.  But 
she  desires  also  social  life,  and  where  she  has  the  chance  she 
develops  it.  Here  it  is  that  the  establishment  of  the  coopera- 
tive society,  or  union,  gives  an  opening  and  a  range  of  con- 
ditions in  which  the  social  usefulness  of  woman  makes  itself 
quickly  felt.  I  do  not  think  that  I  am  laying  too  much  stress 
on  this  matter,  because  the  pleasures,  the  interests  and  the 
duties  of  society,  properly  so  called,  —  that  is,  the  state  of 
living  on  friendly  terms  with  our  neighbours,  —  are  always  more 
central  and  important  in  the  life  of  a  woman  than  of  a  man. 
The  man  needs  them,  too,  for  without  them  he  becomes  a  mere 
machine  for  making  money,  but  the  woman,  deprived  of  them, 
tends  to  become  a  mere  drudge.  The  new  rural  society  economy 
(which  implies  a  denser  population  occupying  smaller  holdings) 
must  therefore  include  a  generous  provision  for  all  those  forms 
of  social  intercourse  which  specially  appeal  to  women.  The 
Women's  Sections  of  the  Granges  have  done  a  great  deal  of 
useful  work  in  this  direction;  we  need  a  more  general  and 
complete  application  of  the  principles  on  which  they  act. 

I  have  now  stated  the  broad  principles  which  must  govern 
any  effective  scheme  for  correcting  the  present  harmful  sub- 


io8  SIR  HORACE  PLUNKETT 

ordination  of  rural  life  to  a  civilization  too  exclusively  urban. 
Before  I  bring  forward  my  definite  proposal  for  a  remedy 
calculated  to  meet  the  needs  of  the  situation,  I  must  antici- 
pate a  line  of  criticism  which  may  occur  to  the  mind  of  any 
social  worker  who  does  not  happen  to  be  very  familiar  with 
the  conditions  of  country  life. 

I  can  well  imagine  readers  who  have  patiently  followed 
my  arguments  wishing  to  interrogate  me  in  some  such  terms 
as  these:  "Assuming,"  they  may  say,  "that  we  accept  all 
you  tell  us  about  the  neglect  of  the  rural  population,  and  agree 
as  to  the  grave  consequences  which  must  follow  if  it  be  con- 
tinued, what  on  earth  can  we  do?  Of  course  the  welfare 
of  the  rural  population  is  a  matter  of  paramount  importance 
to  the  city  and  to  the  nation  at  large;  but  may  we  remind 
you  that  you  said  the  evil  and  the  consequences  can  be  removed 
and  averted  only  by  those  immediately  concerned  —  the  actual 
farmers  —  and  that  the  remedy  for  the  rural  backwardness 
was  to  be  sought  in  the  rural  mind?  "  Canst  thou  minister  to 
a  mind  diseased?.  Must  not  the  patient  'minister'  to  himself?" 

Fair  questions  these,  and  altogether  to  the  point.  I  answer 
at  once  that  the  patient  ought  to  minister  to  himself,  but  he 
won't.  He  has  acquired  the  habit  of  sending  for  the  physi- 
cian of  the  town,  whose  physic  but  aggravates  the  disease. 
Dropping  metaphor,  the  farmer  does  not  think  for  himself. 
In  rural  communities,  there  is  as  great  a  lack  of  collective 
thought  as  of  cooperative  action.  All  progress  is  conditional 
on  public  opinion,  and  this,  even  in  the  country,  is  a  very  much 
town-made  thing. 

So  I  am,  then,  in  this  difl&culty.  My  subject  is  rural,  my 
audience  urban.  I  have  to  commend  to  the  statesmen  and 
the  philanthropists  of  the  town  the  somewhat  incongruous 
proposal  that  they  should  take  the  initiative  in  rural  reform. 
Neither  the  thought  nor  the  influence  which  can  set  in  motion 
what  in  agricultural  communities  is  no  less  than  an  economic 
revolution  are  to  be  found  in  the  open  country. 


THE   FARMER   AND    FINANCE  ^ 

Myron  T.  Herrick 

The  importance  of  agriculture  as  an  economic  and  social 
factor  is  not  a  newly  discovered  fact.  As  long  ago  as  1859, 
in  a  speech  before  the  Wisconsin  Agricultural  Society, 
Abraham  Lincoln  said,  "Population  must  increase  rapidly, 
more  rapidly  than  in  former  times  and  ere  long  the  most  val- 
uable of  all  arts  will  be  the  art  of  deriving  a  comfortable  sub- 
sistence from  the  smallest  area  of  soil.  No  community 
whose  every  member  possesses  this  art  can  ever  be  the  victim 
of  oppression  in  any  of  its  forms.  Such  community  will  be 
alike  independent  of  crowned  kings,  money  kings,  and  land 
kings." 

Unfortunately,  perhaps  the  truth  contained  in  Lincoln's 
words  was  not  sufi&ciently  well  appreciated  to  modify  the  course 
of  the  economic  development  of  the  country.  Nations,  like 
individuals,  are  accustomed  to  regard  lightly  those  things  that 
are  easily  acquired.  Conditions  in  this  country  always  have 
been  so  favorable  to  agriculture  that  it  has  been  accepted  as 
an  industry  needing  little  encouragement.  On  the  other 
hand,  manufacturing  and  commerce  did  not  seem  to  possess 
the  inherent  qualities  of  self-development,  and,  as  a  result, 
the  economic  policy  of  the  country  has  been  consciously 
framed  to  build  up  these  industries,  —  not  exactly  at  the 
expense  of  agriculture,  but  at  least  with  the  consequence  of 
diverting  the  attention  of  the  people  from  the  danger  of  neg- 
lecting   farming    interests.     Consequently,    the    industry    of 

^  From  The  Atlantic  Monthly,  vol.  cxi,  pp.  170-178.  Reprinted  by 
permission  of  the  author  and  the  publishers. 


no  MYRON  T.   HERRICK 

cultivating  the  soil  has  been  left  to  develop  along  the  lines 
of  least  resistance,  —  that  of  seizing  temporary  profits,  with- 
out regard  to  future  possibilities.  The  complaisant  indif- 
ference with  which  agricultural  development  has  been  regarded 
has  had  its  logical  result.  Agriculture  has  failed  to  progress 
with  anywhere  near  the  rapidity  with  which  the  population 
of  the  country  and  the  demand  for  food-products  have 
increased. 

From  1900  to  1910  the  population  of  the  United  States 
increased  twenty-one  per  cent;  during  the  same  period  the 
number  of  farms  increased  only  ten  and  five-tenths  per  cent; 
which  indicates  that,  in  the  ten  years,  rural  population  increased 
about  one-half  as  much  as  the  total  population.  In  1909 
the  per-capita  production  of  cereals  was  only  forty-nine 
and  one-tenth  bushels;  in  1899  it  was  fifty-eight  and  four- 
tenths,  —  a  decrease  of  nine  bushels  per  head  in  ten  years. 
Between  1899  and  1909  the  aggregate  production  of  cereals 
increased  only  one  and  seven-tenths  per  cent,  but  their  market 
value  was  higher  by  seventy-nine  and  eight-tenths  per  cent 
in  1909  than  in  1899,  —  the  increase  in  price  being  forty- 
seven  times  the  increase  in  quantity.  In  1909  there  was  one 
farm  for  every  thirteen  and  two-tenths  persons;  in  1910 
there  was  one  farm  for  every  fourteen  and  five-tenths  persons. 
On  the  average,  therefore,  each  farm  now  has  to  furnish  food 
for  more  than  one  more  person  than  in  1900.  In  1900,  there 
were  five  and  five-tenths  acres  of  improved  farm  land  per 
capita  of  population;  by  19 10  the  per-capita  improved  acre- 
age had  declined  to  five  and  two-tenths  acres. 

These  figures  make  it  clear  why  the  exports  of  food-stuffs  in 
crude  condition,  and  food  animals,  have  decreased  from 
$227,300,000  or  16.59  per  cent  of  the  total  exports,  for  the 
fiscal  year  of  1900  to  $99,900,000,  or  only  4.6  per  cent  of  the 
total  for  the  fiscal  year  of  191 2;  and  why  similar  imports 
have  increased  from  $68,700,000  in  1900,  to  $180,120,000  in 
191 2.     Of  course  the  splendid  crops  of  this  year  will,  for  the 


THE   FARMER  AND   FINANCE  iii 

time  being,  alter  the  tendency  of  imports  of  foodstuffs  to 
increase  and  of  exports  to  decrease,  but  unfortunately  experi- 
ence indicates  that  another  bumper  crop  is  not  likely  for 
several  years.  Regardless  of  other  influences  the  increasing 
disparity  between  the  supply  of  and  demand  for  foodstuffs, 
as  shown  by  the  foregoing  data,  would  seem  almost  to  furnish 
an  adequate  explanation  for  the  fact  that  on  October  i,  191 2, 
Bradstreet's  index  number  of  prices  made  a  new  high  record 

of  $9.4515- 

Surprising  as  it  may  seem,  it  is  within  the  last  few  years  that 
the  people  of  the  United  States  have  recognized  the  danger 
that  lies  in  the  increasing  prices  of  food.  The  uneasiness 
with  which  the  rise  in  the  prices  of  necessities  is  now  regarded 
is  amply  justified,  for  if  there  is  a  further  considerable  advance, 
a  lowering  of  the  standard  of  living  of  a  great  number  of  the 
American  people,  with  its  certain  inimical  consequences  to 
the  quality  of  our  citizenship,  is  bound  to  occur.  It  is  largely 
the  apprehension  of  this  possibility  that  has  impelled  the 
national  government,  the  states,  various  associations,  and 
individuals,  to  undertake  the  promotion  of  scientific  farming, 
to  the  end  that  the  output  of  the  farms  of  this  country  may 
be  raised  to  a  maximum  consistent  with  economic  production 
and  the  conservation  of  the  vital  qualities  of  the  soil.  Edu- 
cational activity  of  this  sort  is  excellent  and  necessary,  and 
should,  if  possible,  be  continued  with  greater  enthusiasm. 
However  agriculture  is  similar  to  other  industries  in  that 
knowledge  alone  is  not  sufiicient  for  success.  Like  those 
engaged  in  other  kinds  of  business,  farmers  must  have  capital, 
in  addition  to  knowledge  and  skill,  and  it  is  highly  important 
that  they  obtain  the  capital  they  need  on  terms  consistent 
with  their  credit. 

What  is  being  done  to  promote  better  farming,  through 
education  and  the  establishment  of  land-and-agricultural 
credit  institutions,  is  due  to  the  great  importance  of  the  in- 
dustry, and  not  to  any  lack  of  intelligence  on  the  part  of  the 


112  MYRON  T.   HERRICK 

farmers  themselves.  There  is  no  more  reason  to  assume  that 
farmers  are  incapable  of,  or  indifferent  to,  progress  than 
there  is  to  assume  that  bankers  are  deficient  because  they 
operate  under  a  faulty  and  inadequate  banking  system.  The 
farmers  of  the  United  States  are  the  intellectual  superiors 
of  the  farmers  in  any  other  country  in  the  world,  and,  with 
equal  facihties,  they  will  set  the  pace  in  scientific  agriculture. 

A  superficial  knowledge  of  agricultural  conditions  in  the 
United  States  is  all  that  is  necessary  to  understand  that  the 
particular  pressing  need  of  American  farmers  is  financial 
machinery  whereby  the  potential  credit  that  they  possess  in 
abundance  can  be  made  negotiable.  There  is  in  this  country 
a  serious  lack  of  financial  institutions  suited  to  supply  farmers 
with  funds.  In  this  respect  the  United  States  is  the  most 
backward  of  any  of  the  important  nations  of  the  world,  and, 
consequently,  it  is  safe  to  say  that  this  is  the  prime  reason 
why  this  country  is  so  far  behind  many  other  countries  in  the 
per-acre  production  of  food-stuffs.  The  average  yield  of 
grain  in  the  United  States  is  about  fifty  per  cent  less  than  it 
is  on  the  continent  of  Europe,  and  the  average  per  acre  yield 
of  potatoes  is  not  more  than  thirty  per  cent  of  what  it  is  in 
Germany.  The  most  striking  and  important  difference 
between  farming  conditions  here  and  in  many  European 
countries,  is  that  there  farmers  can  readily  obtain  the  funds 
they  need,  whereas  in  this  country  agricultural  financing  is 
difficult  and  costly. 

In  its  capital  requirements,  farming  is  not  unlike  other 
industries  and  it  is  like  other  industries  in  that  unless  these 
capital  requirements  are  supplied,  progress  will  be  slow  and 
dubious.  Like  the  merchant  and  the  manufacturer,  the 
farmer  needs  funds:  first,  for  the  purchase  of  property  and 
for  its  permanent  improvement;  and  second,  for  temporary 
purposes,  —  such  as  financing  crops.  These  two  general 
divisions  of  agricultural  capital  requirements  should  be  pre- 
served in  the  nature  of  loans  that  are  made  to  secure  funds. 


THE   FARMER  AND   FINANCE  113 

Each  of  these  two  divisions  can  and  should  support  its  own 
credit,  known  respectively  as  land  credit  and  agricultural 
credit.  For  the  purpose  of  buying  land  and  making  permanent 
improvements,  farmers  should  be  able  to  make  mortgage 
loans  which  have  a  long  time  to  run,  and  which  they  can 
gradually  repay  by  small  yearly  installments.  Money  in- 
vested in  land  or  permanent  improvements  becomes  fixed 
capital,  and  the  proportion  of  a  farmer's  income  that  can  be 
attributed  to  this  sort  of  capital  is  so  limited  that  it  is  illogical 
and  unreasonable  to  expect  the  money  so  invested  to  be  repaid 
except  after  a  considerable  period  of  years.  The  maximum 
length  of  a  farm  loan  in  this  country  is  from  three  to  five  years, 
and,  at  the  end  of  that  time,  it  may  or  may  not  be  possible 
to  secure  a  renewal.  As  a  rule,  a  farm-mortgage  loan  here 
has  a  very  restricted  market,  and,  consequently,  the  borrower 
frequently  is  obliged  to  pay  an  unreasonable  rate  of  interest, 
and  to  submit  to  burdensome  conditions  from  which  the 
nature  of  the  security  he  has  to  offer  entitles  him  to  be  exempt. 
Until  some  way  is  provided  by  which  farm  mortgages  can 
be  made  the  basis  of  a  long-time  security,  with  the  marketable 
qualities  of  a  railroad  or  industrial  bond,  and  which  can  be 
sold  at  a  price  very  nearly  determined  by  the  soundness  of 
the  security,  the  farmers  of  this  country  will  continue  to  be 
burdened  by  the  terms  they  must  accept  in  making  mortgage 
loans.  That  it  is  possible  to  create  a  security  of  this  sort  is 
shown  by  the  success  of  the  mortgage-loan  companies  and 
associations  of  foreign  countries,  whose  obligations  sell  on  a 
basis  as  favorable  as  that  of  bonds  of  the  most  successful 
railroad  and  industrial  corporations.  The  farmers  of  the 
United  States  have  as  good  a  claim  to  cheap  money  as  have 
railroad  and  industrial  corporations,  because  farm  land  con- 
stitutes as  good  security  as  a  railroad  or  factory.  The  mar- 
velous and  rapid  development  of  the  railroads  of  the  country, 
to  a  very  large  extent,  is  due  to  the  low  cost  at  which  they 
have  been  able  to  obtain  vast  sums  of  money  for  purposes 


114  MYRON  T.   HERRICK 

of  development.  There  is  absolutely  no  reason  why  just  as 
cheap  money  should  not  be  similarly  available  for  the  accel- 
eration of  agricultural  development. 

For  the  financing  of  temporary  capital  requirements,  the 
personal  credit  of  farmers  should  be  made  available.  A 
farmer  should  not  be  obliged  to  mortgage  his  land  to  obtain 
funds  to  operate  his  property.  As  in  the  case  of  mortgage 
loans,  the  facilities  in  this  country  for  making  negotiable  the 
personal  credit  of  farmers  are  inadequate.  There  is  no  reason 
why  the  industrious  capable  farmer  should  not  be  able  to 
borrow  on  his  personal  obligation  as  easily  as  does  the  mer- 
chant. A  few  American  farmers  do  a  banking  business  on 
a  scale  sufi5ciently  large  to  make  them  desirable  clients  of 
local,  state,  and  national  banks,  but,  for  the  great  majority, 
it  is  exceedingly  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  secure  the  per- 
sonal credit  accommodation  they  need,  and  to  which  their 
responsibility  entitles  them. 

The  success  of  foreign  rural  cooperative  banking  associa- 
tions in  reducing  the  rate  of  interest  on  loans  to  farmers,  and 
the  almost  negligible  amount  that  has  been  lost  through  the 
operations  of  these  associations,  clearly  indicates  that  the 
high  rate  of  interest  that  farmers  in  this  country  must  pay, 
is  due,  not  to  any  inherent  weakness  in  their  credit,  but  to 
the  lack  of  properly  organized  facilities  for  making  their 
credit  negotiable.  The  lack  of  agricultural  banking  facilities 
is  a  tremendous  hardship  for  the  farmers.  It  means  that 
they  are  laboring  under  a  handicap  which  those  engaged  in 
no  other  kind  of  industry  have  to  bear.  Under  present 
arrangements,  farmers  are  paying  two,  two  and  a  half,  and 
three  per  cent  more  for  money  than  they  should.  Upon  the 
enormous  amount  of  borrowed  funds  that  the  farmers  of  this 
country  are  obliged  to  employ,  the  excessive  interest  amounts 
to  a  sum  so  large  that  if  it  could  be  saved  and  expended  in 
increasing  the  productivity  of  our  farms,  it  would  do  much 
toward  solving  the  problem  of  inadequate  crops. 


THE   FARMER  AND   FINANCE  115 

Fortunately,  in  the  attempt  to  establish  banking  facilities 
for  the  farmers  of  the  United  States,  it  is  not  necessary  to 
work  in  the  dark.  Many  of  the  farm  credit  institutions  of 
other  countries  are  established  on  principles  so  broad  and 
sound  that,  with  some  modifications,  they  can  be  adapted 
to  conditions  in  this  country.  It  is  important,  therefore,  to 
know  all  we  can  of  foreign  land  and  agricultural  credit 
institutions. 

Germany  is,  perhaps,  the  country  where  agriculture  is 
the  most  thoroughly  and  most  intelligently  organized.  There 
are  organizations  in  Germany  for  the  purpose  of  supplying 
farmers  with  capital,  and  organizations  for  carrying  on  nearly 
all  of  the  operations  connected  with  the  cultivation  of  the 
soil  —  all  owned  and  managed  by  the  farmers  themselves. 
These  organizations  have  revolutionized  agricultural  condi- 
tions in  Germany.  They  not  only  have  been  the  means  of 
immensely  increasing  the  productivity  of  the  farms,  but  have 
also  wonderfully  improved  the  economic  and  social  status 
of  the  farmers  themselves.  The  first  kind  of  agricultural 
cooperative  organization  started  in  Germany  was  for  credit 
or  banking  purposes,  and  the  entire  fabric  of  agricultural 
cooperation  in  Germany  now  rests  on  its  elaborate  and  effi- 
cient system  of  credit  societies.  Consequently  it  is  reasonable 
to  assume  that  these  credit  societies  are  responsible  for.  the 
advanced  condition  of  agriculture.  Agricultural  credit  in  Ger- 
many is  based  on  the  principles  of  self-help  and  cooperation. 

In  those  European  countries  where  land  and  agricultural- 
credit  facilities  are  the  most  complete,  as  a  rule,  long-time 
mortgage  loans  and  short-time  personal  loans  are  made  by 
different  institutions  organized  along  different  lines.  Of 
the  two  kinds  of  credit  institutions,  perhaps  the  most  success- 
ful and  efficient  are  the  Raiffeisen  banks  in  Germany  and  the 
Credit  Foncier  in  France.  These  two  institutions  differ  in 
many  essential  particulars.  A  Raiffeisen  bank  is  a  mutual 
association,  the  Credit  Foncier  is  an  incorporated  company; 


ii6  MYRON  T.   HERRICK 

the  Raiffeisen  banks  loan  for  the  most  part  on  personal  obli- 
gations, the  Credit  Foncier  on  first  mortgages;  the  Raiffeisen 
banks  secure  most  of  their  funds  through  the  deposits  of  the 
farmers  themselves,  the  Credit  Foncier,  through  the  debenture 
bonds  that  it  issues,  obtains  funds  for  its  loans  from  the  con- 
servative investors  of  all  classes.  It  is  because  of  these  and 
other  characteristic  differences,  and  by  reason  of  the  wonder- 
ful success  of  these  two  institutions,  that  a  knowledge  of  how 
the  Raiffeisen  banks  and  the  Credit  Foncier  operate,  and  what 
they  have  accomplished,  is  peculiarly  illuminating  and  prof- 
itable. Each  of  these  two  types  of  credit  organizations  pos- 
sesses many  features  well  adapted  for  systems  of  farm-credit 
institutions  in  this  country. 

The  Raiffeisen  banking  system  was  founded  by  Frederick 
William  Raiffeisen  primarily  for  the  purpose  of  freeing  small 
farmers  from  the  exactions  of  usurers.  Raiffeisen  knew  noth- 
ing of  finance,  but  he  did  understand  the  needs  of  those  who, 
under  the  most  discouraging  circumstances,  were  bravely 
trying  to  gain  a  living  from  the  soil  —  a  class  among  whom 
credit  was  the  particular  and  essential  thing  lacking.  Sir 
Horace  Plunkett,  who  has  done  so  much  for  the  agricultural 
development  of  Ireland,  has  said  that  the  establishment  of 
the  Raiffeisen  banks  was  second  in  economic  importance  only 
to  the  discovery  of  steam. 

The  Raiffeisen  banking  system  is  based  on  the  principle 
of  combining  borrowers,  to  the  end  that  by  association  they 
may  secure  credit  facilities  which,  as  individuals,  it  would  be 
impossible  for  them  to  obtain.  The  fundamental  provisions 
of  the  Raiffeisen  banks,  as  contemplated  by  Herr  Raiffeisen, 
were  those  of  gratuitous  management,  unlimited  liability  of 
members,  and  a  strictly  local  field  of  operation.  For  the 
most  part  the  Raiffeisen  banks  adhere  to  those  provisions. 
The  membership  of  the  banks  is  made  up  almost  exclusively 
of  farmers.  In  1909  the  number  of  members  for  each  bank 
averaged  92.     In  the  beginning  the  Raiffeisen  banks  had  no 


THE  FARMER  AND   FINANCE  117 

capital  stock,  but  in  1876  a  law  was  passed  which  made  it 
necessary  for  them  to  issue  shares  of  stock.  The  value  of 
the  shares  was  fixed  at  what  was  little  more  than  a  nominal 
amount.  In  1909  the  average  paid-up  capital  per  member 
was  only  19  marks.  The  dividends  that  the  Raiffeisen  banks 
can  pay  are  strictly  limited  —  in  no  event  can  they  exceed  the 
rate  of  interest  charged  on  loans.  In  1909  these  banks  made 
a  new  profit  in  excess  of  7,000,000  marks,  but  of  this  only  13 
per  cent  was  paid  out  in  dividends  —  the  balance  being 
passed  to  the  credit  of  the  reserve  fund.  Because  of  the  nature 
of  its  business  the  sphere  of  operation  of  each  bank  is  very 
limited.  It  is  necessary  for  the  members  to  know  each  other, 
and  to  know  for  what  purpose  each  loan  is  made,  and  to  see 
that  the  money  is  so  used.  The  Raiffeisen  banks  have  done 
much  to  encourage  thrift,  because  they  have  supplied  a  new 
incentive  for  saving.  Inasmuch  as  the  successful  manage- 
ment of  these  banks  requires  a  keen  sense  of  responsibility  on 
the  part  of  the  individual  members,  their  moral  effect  is  very 
considerable.  Through  their  membership  in  the  Raiffeisen 
banks  many  German  farmers  have  become  familiar  with  the 
nature  and  uses  of  credit  and  have  acquired  a  knowledge  of 
business.  Altogether,  these  small  rural  banks  have  much 
improved  the  financial  position  and  the  moral  and  intellec- 
tual caliber  of  their  members. 

Because  of  its  small  size  and  restricted  field  of  operation, 
the  management  of  a  Raiffeisen  bank  is  very  simple  and  in- 
expensive. In  1909  the  average  cost  of  management  per  bank 
was  only  638  marks.  The  funds  that  the  banks  have  to  loan 
to  their  members  are  made  up  of  the  proceeds  of  the  sale  of 
capital  stock,  the  reserve  accumulated  from  profits,  deposits 
—  both  savings  and  current  account  —  and  loans  from  the 
central  cooperative  banks,  from  other  banks,  and  from  in- 
dividuals. In  1909,  88  per  cent  of  these  funds  consisted  of 
the  deposits  of  the  farmers  themselves.  The  size  of  the  average 
deposit  is  about  $370.00. 


II 8  MYRON  T.  HERRICK 

The  loans  which  these  banks  make  are  either  on  current 
account  —  a  form  of  overdraft  often  used  by  European 
banks  —  or  for  fixed  periods.  There  is  a  tendency  to  extend 
the  practice  of  making  loans  on  current  account,  as  that  seems 
to  be  the  form  best  suited  for  members.  As  a  rule  the  loans 
made  by  the  Raiffeisen  banks  are  for  a  short  period  —  usually 
for  one  year,  with  a  maximum  of  five.  For  the  most  part  the 
loans  are  granted  on  the  personal  obligations  of  the  borrowers, 
to  which  usually  is  added  the  guaranty  of  one  or  two  associate 
members.  Occasionally  loans  are  secured  by  deposit  of  col- 
lateral, or  by  mortgages.  The  average  loan  indicates,  the 
Raiffeisen  banks  primarily  are  institutions  for  supplying 
credit  accommodations  to  the  small  landowner. 

The  Raiffeisen  banking  system  in  Germany  now  comprises 
about  15,000  local  banks,  with  a  membership  of  approximately 
2,000,000.     These  banks  are  now  doing  a  yearly  aggregate 
business  of  about  $1,500,000,000.    The  local  Raiffeisen  banks 
are  grouped  under  35  provincial  banks,  which,  in  turn,  are 
afl51iated  with  two  general  central  cooperative  banks.     The 
local  banks  borrow  money  from  the  provincial  banks,  when 
required,  and  also  loan  to  them  their  surplus  funds.     The 
provincial  central  banks  are  cooperative  societies,  with  lim- 
ited liability,  and  they  occupy  much  the  same  position  toward 
the  local  rural  banks  that  the  latter  do  toward  their  members. 
Their  working  capital  is  made  up  of  the  paid-up  shares  of 
their  members  (the  local  banks),  of  the  deposits  of  the  local 
banks,  and  of  loans  from  other  banks.     By  means  of  these 
provincial  and  central  cooperative  banks,  agricultural  credit 
in  those  parts  of  Germany  where  these  banks  operate  possesses 
the   element   of   fluidity   in   a   remarkable   degree  —  moving 
from  those  localities  where  it  is  not  needed  to  those  where 
it  is  needed.     Altogether  the  Raiffeisen  banks  of  Germany 
make  up  a  wonderfully  efficient  organization,  which,  by  supply- 
ing an  enormous  amount  of  agricultural  credit,  has  revolu- 
tionized farming  in  Germany. 


THE   FARMER  AND   FINANCE  119 

Up  to  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  France  was  almost 
entirely  lacking  in  land-  and  agricultural-credit  facilities. 
As  a  result  of  much  agitation  there  was  passed  in  1852  a 
law  providing  for  land-mortgage  banks,  and  under  this  the 
Credit  Foncier  was  organized.  Because  of  the  success  of  the 
Landschaf ten  in  Germany,  many  of  the  principles  and  methods 
of  these  associations  were  incorporated  in  the  French  law. 
The  Credit  Foncier  is  unlike  the  Landschaften  in  the  very 
important  particular  that  it  is  an  incorporated  company,  not 
a  cooperative  association.  The  Credit  Foncier  has  a  capital 
of  200,000,000  francs  and  operated  under  the  supervision  of 
the  state.  In  the  beginning  (1852)  the  government  granted 
the  Credit  Foncier  a  subsidy  of  10,000,000  francs,  in  order  to 
help  it  make  loans  at  a  rate  advantageous  for  that  time.  The 
subsidy  was  not  renewed,  and  the  state  does  not  now  intervene, 
except  occasionally,  to  exercise  control.  The  Credit  Foncier 
possesses  many  special  privileges,  pertaining  to  the  issuance 
of  bonds  and  to  its  loans,  that  give  it  a  practical,  if  not  a  legal 
monopoly  of  the  kinds  of  business  in  which  it  is  engaged. 

The  purposes  of  the  Credit  Foncier  are:  — 

1.  Lending  money  to  landowners,  counties,  communes, 
and  public  services. 

2.  Creating  and  negotiating  mortgage  bonds,  or,  more 
properly,  debentures,  to  a  value  which  cannot  exceed  the 
amount  of  the  sums  due  from  its  borrowers. 

3.  As  a  necessary  accessory  to  its  principal  business,  the 
Credit  Foncier  has  the  right  to  carry  on  ordinary  banking 
operations  within  well-defined  limits,  and,  in  that  connection, 
it  is  permitted  to  receive  deposits;  but  the  aggregate  of 
deposits  must  not  exceed  100,000,000  francs. 

A  large  part  of  the  funds  received  on  deposit  is  employed 
in  discounting  commercial  bills,  on  condition  that  they  have 
two  signatures  and  do  not  run  over  three  months.  The  shares 
of  the  Credit  Foncier  which  are  dealt  in  on  the  Bourse,  are 
issued  at  five  hundred  francs,  and  any  one  can  own  them. 


I20  MYRON  T.   HERRICK 

The  stock  now  receives  six  per  cent  dividends,  and  sells  for 
about  750  francs  a  share.  The  government  appoints  the 
governor  and  two  sub-governors,  who,  by  virtue  of  their  office, 
are  members  of  the  Council  of  Administration.  There  must 
also  be  three  treasurers-general  —  state  officials  —  among  the 
23  members  of  the  Council  of  Administration.  These  treas- 
urers are  appointed  by  the  general  assembly  of  the  company, 
but  before  presenting  their  names  to  the  assembly  it  is  cus- 
tomary to  obtain  the  approval  of  the  Minister  of  Finance. 
The  general  assembly  represents  all  the  stockholders,  and  is 
composed  of  the. two  hundred  who  own  the  largest  amount 
of  stock.  These  stockholders  meet  once  each  year  to  ratify 
the  accounts,  vote  the  dividends,  and  dispose  of  such  other 
business  as  may  properly  be  presented  to  them.  The  general 
assembly  elects  a  Council  of  Administration  of  23  members. 
The  governor  has  a  right  to  veto  the  acts  of  both  the  general 
assembly  and  the  Council,  but  there  are  only  a  very  few 
instances  on  record  of  his  having  used  this  power.  The 
Council  of  Administration  meets  once  each  week,  and,  among 
other  things,  passes  upon  all  loans. 

The  two  principal  kinds  of  loans  made  by  the  Credit  Foncier 
are  mortgage  loans  and  communal  loans,  and  its  total  out- 
standing loans  now  amount  to  about  4,000,000,000  francs. 
So  far  as  this  country  is  concerned  that  part  of  its  operations 
covering  the  making  of  mortgage  loans  to  landowners  is  of 
the  greatest  interest.  Our  municipalities  now  have  a  broad 
and  steady  market  for  their  securities. 

The  Credit  Foncier  makes  loans  to  landowners  on  the  fol- 
lowing terms:  — 

1.  Short- time  loans,  without  amortization,  for  a  period  of 
from  one  to  nine  years. 

2.  Long-time  loans,  with  annual  amortization  for  a  period 
of  from  ten  to  seventy-five  years. 

The  rate  of  interest  on  these  loans  is  4.30  per  cent  at  the 
present  time,  and  the  rate  is  the  same  for  all  kinds  of  property. 


THE   FARMER  AND   FINANCE  121 

The  rate  charged  on  a  loan  must  not  exceed  the  rate  at  which 
money  is  obtained  from  the  sale  of  bonds  by  more  than  six- 
tenths  of  one  per  cent.  Loans  are  made  only  on  first-mortgage 
security,  and  the  amount  of  the  loan  cannot  exceed  one-half 
of  the  value  of  the  property,  except  that  loans  on  wine  and 
timber  lands  must  not  exceed  one-third  of  their  value.  When 
the  loan  is  made  for  a  short  period,  the  borrower  pays  each 
year  only  the  amount  of  interest  due,  and  the  principal  sum 
must  be  paid  in  full  at  the  end  of  the  term  of  the  loan  —  from 
one  to  nine  years.  Long-time  loans  are  amortized;  that  is 
they  are  gradually  paid  by  means  of  an  annuity,  which  includes 
the  interest  and  a  small  fraction  of  the  principal.  As  a  rule, 
the  borrower  himself  fixes  the  length  of  time  that  the  loan  is 
to  run.  The  amortization  extends  over  the  whole  period  of 
the  loan,  so  that  the  total  of  the  interest  and  capital  amount 
is  repaid  from  a  constant  yearly  annuity.  Consequently, 
the  cost  of  amortization  depends  on  the  length  of  the  loan, 
and  on  the  rate  of  interest.  On  a  loan  running  for  seventy- 
five  years  at  4.30  per  cent  interest,  the  annuity  —  including 
interest  and  amortization  —  is  at  the  rate  of  4.48  per  cent 
per  annum.  The  borrower  has  the  right  to  pay  the  principal 
of  the  loan  at  any  time,  and  to  profit  by  the  amortization 
already  made.  He  can  also  make  partial  payments  and 
thereby  reduce  the  amount  of  the  annuity. 

The  bonds  issued  by  the  Credit  Foncier  have  no  fixed 
maturity,  but  are  called  for  payment  by  lot.  Each  payment 
of  bonds  must  be  of  such  an  amount  that  the  bonds  remaining 
in  circulation  do  not  exceed  the  balance  of  the  principal  owed 
upon  the  hypothecated  loans.  If  the  government  approves, 
there  can  be  added  to  the  bonds  called  for  payment  certain 
prizes  and  premiums.  The  funds  received  from  the  usual 
amortization,  or  anticipated  payments,  must  be  used  to  amor- 
tize or  redeem  bonds,  or  to  make  new  loans.  In  general  the 
bonds  bear  3  per  cent  on  the  nominal  capital,  and  the  total 
cost  of  recent  loans  to  the  company,  including  interest,  prizes, 


122  MYRON    T.    HERRICK 

and  premiums,  is  about  3.60  per  cent.  The  bonds  are  sold 
by  public  subscription,  and  may  be  paid  for  in  installments. 
About  every  three  years  the  company  issues  bonds  sufficient 
to  yield  from  300,000,000  to  350,000,000  francs.  The  bonds 
are  subscribed  for  by  people  of  small  means,  and  usually  remain 
in  their  hands;  consequently  the  quotations  of  the  bonds 
show  little  fluctuation  —  less  than  French  railway  bonds. 
The  company  always  keeps  a  few  bonds  on  hand  for  sale,  but 
the  bulk  of  them  are  disposed  of  by  public  subscription. 

The  Credit  Foncier  has  departed  from  its  original  purpose 
to  the  extent  that  at  the  present  time  a  very  large  part  of  its 
loans  are  made  on  urban  real  estate.  However,  this  is  simply 
an  incident,  and  does  not  reflect  on  the  applicabihty  of  the 
principles  on  which  the  Credit  Foncier  is  founded,  to  an  insti- 
tution confining  its  operations  to  loans  on  rural  land. 

In  view  of  the  wonderful  success  of  the  Credit  Foncier  and 
kindred  institutions,  it  is  hard  to  understand  why  the  prin- 
ciple of  debenture  bonds,  secured  by  long-time  real-estate 
loans,  payable  by  amortization,  should  not,  long  ago,  have 
been  put  in  practice  in  this  country.  The  business  of  loaning 
money  on  farm  mortgages  in  the  United  States  is  still  carried 
on  in  a  primitive  way.  We  are  still  making  farm-mortgage 
loans  for  such  short  periods  that  frequent  renewals  —  often 
very  embarrassing  to  debtors  —  are  inevitable.  The  existence 
of  facilities  whereby  farm-mortgage  loans  could  be  made  for 
long  terms  —  say  fifty  years  or  more,  with  provision  for  easy 
payment  by  amortization  —  would  be  a  wonderful  boon  to 
American  farmers,  and  a  decided  stimulant  to  the  develop- 
ment of  efficient,  scientific  farming. 

Neither  the  Raiffeisen  banks  nor  the  Credit  Foncier  involve 
strange  financial  principles.  In  this  country,  the  splendid 
record  of  the  mutual  savings  banks  proves  that  cooperation 
can  be  safely  and  wisely  applied  in  banking.  We  are  familiar 
with  the  principle  of  debenture  bonds,  and  we  know  something 
of  the  principle  of  amortization.     Of  course  it  is  impossible 


THE  FARMER  AND   FINANCE 


123 


to  pick  up  any  of  the  foreign  farm-credit  systems,  out  of  its 
social  setting,  and  say,  offhand,  that  it  would  be  as  successful 
in  this  country.  The  history  and  success,  as  well  as  the  details 
of  organization,  of  every  one  of  the  foreign  farm-credit  systems 
have  been  very  largely  determined  by  the  temperament,  the 
social  and  economic  status  of  the  people,  and  by  the  condi- 
tions of  climate  and  soil  of  the  country  in  which  they  are  sit- 
uated. Consequently  in  working  out  the  plans  of  agricultural- 
and  land-credit  systems  for  this  country,  we  must  be  cautious 
in  our  adherence  to  foreign  models.  We  must  remember 
that  the  value  and  success  of  every  institution  depends  upon 
its  being  in  harmony  with  its  environment. 

The  importance  of  adequate  credit  facilities  for  our  farmers 
is  beginning  to  be  keenly  appreciated.  The  American  Bankers' 
Association,  the  Southern  Commercial  Congress,  and  other 
organizations  are  doing  splendid  pioneer  work  by  agitating 
the  need  of  an  agricultural  banking  system,  and  by  dis- 
seminating information  as  to  what  has  been  accomplished 
abroad. 

The  establishment  of  agricultural-  and  land-credit  systems 
in  this  country  is  not  a  political  question;  it  is  an  economic 
question  of  the  gravest  import  —  the  proper  solution  of  which 
demands  a  patriotic  national  purpose  and  constructive  ability 
of  a  high  order. 


THE   REALM   OF  THE   COMMONPLACE  ^ 
L.  H.  Bailey 

Not  long  ago,  I  sat  at  the  window  of  a  hotel  chamber, 
looking  down  a  thoroughfare  of  a  great  city.  I  saw  thousands 
of  human  beings  pouring  in  and  out,  up  and  down,  as  if  moved 
by  some  relentless  machinery.  Most  of  them  were  silent 
and  serious  and  went  quickly  on.  Some  sauntered,  and  re- 
turned again  and  again  as  if  looking  for  something  that  they 
did  not  expect  to  find.  Carriages  went  up  and  down  in  endless 
pageant.  Trolley-cars  rushed  by,  clanging  and  grinding  as 
they  headlonged  into  the  side  streets.  Meretricious  auto- 
mobiles with  gorgon-eyed  drivers  whirred  into  the  crowds, 
scattering  the  street  crossers.  Men  passed  with  banners  and 
advertising  placards.  Women  paraded  with  streaming  head- 
gear and  tempestuous  gowns.  A  resplendent  trumpeter 
rolled  by  in  a  tallyho.  A  hundred  other  devices  to  attract 
the  eye  and  distract  the  ear  came  out  and  vanished;  and  yet 
no  one  stopped  and  no  one  seemed  to  care.  Now  and  then 
I  saw  a  knot  of  men  form,  as  some  one  fell  or  as  wagons  col- 
lided; but  the  knots  as  quickly  dissolved,  and  I  saw  that 
they  were  made  up  of  the  idle  who  were  amused  for  the  moment 
and  then  floated  on  hoping  for  fresh  entertainment.  A  hurdy- 
gurdy  attracted  only  a  bevy  of  scurrying  children.  A  little 
girl  with  an  armful  of  newspapers  moved  in  and  out  unnoticed. 

Suddenly  a  dog  leaped  down  a  flight  of  steps  and  was  fol- 
lowed by  two  little  children  laughing  and  screaming.  The 
dog  felt  his  freedom  and  the  children  were  in  pursuit.     The 

^  Copyright.  Reprinted  from  The  Outlook  to  Nature,  by  permission  of 
the  Macmillan  Company. 


THE  REALM  OF  THE   COMMONPLACE        125 

crowd  stopped;  the  stern-faced  men  with  high  hats  stopped; 
the  well-dressed  women  stopped.  Even  a  cabby  pulled  up 
his  horse  as  the  children  dashed  on  the  pavement  after  the 
escaping  dog.  Back  and  forth  the  children  ran.  On  the  far 
side  of  the  street  the  people  halted  and  took  their  hands  out 
of  their  pockets.  The  children  caught  the  dog  and  bundled 
it  lovingly  into  the  house;  the  crowd  applauded,  and  dispersed. 

Every  person  seemed  to  be  surprised  that  he  had  stopped. 
From  my  height  I  thought  I  could  discern  the  reason  for  this 
curious  phenomenon:  in  all  the  blare  and  blazonry  of  that 
tumultuous  thoroughfare,  this  was  the  only  episode  of  real 
spontaneous  and  unaffected  human  nature.  All  else  was  a 
kind  of  acting,  and  every  person  unconsciously  recognized 
that  it  was  so.  I  thought  how  rare  must  common  naturalness 
be  and  how  much  has  it  been  driven  from  our  lives! 

If  a  person  has  given  any  serious  thought  to  public  questions, 
he  has  his  own  contribution  to  make  as  to  the  causes  of  present 
conditions  and  the  means  of  bettering  them;  so  I  make  mine: 
what  is  now  much  needed  in  the  public  temper  is  such  a  change 
of  attitude  as  will  make  us  to  see  and  appreciate  the  common- 
place and  the  spontaneous,  and  to  have  the  desire  to  maintain 
and  express  our  youthful  and  native  enthusiasms.  And  it 
is  m.y  special  part  to  try,  so  far  as  possible,  to  open  the  eyes 
and  the  heart  to  nature  and  the  common-day  environment. 
My  point  of  view  is,  of  course,  that  of  the  countryman,  and 
no  doubt  it  has  the  countryman's  bias. 

So  great  has  been  the  extension  of  knowledge,  and  so  many 
the  physical  appliances  that  multiply  our  capabilities,  that 
we  are  verily  burdened  with  riches.  We  are  so  eager  to  enter 
all  the  strange  and  ambitious  avenues  that  open  before  us 
that  we  overlook  the  soil  at  our  feet.  We  live  in  an  age  of 
superlatives,  I  had  almost  said  of  super-superlatives,  so 
much  so  that  even  the  superlatives  now  begin  to  pall.  The 
reach  for  something  new  has  become  so  much  a  part  of  our 
lives  that  we  cease  to  recognize  the  fact  and  accept  novelty 


126  L.   H.   BAILEY 

as  a  matter  of  course.  If  we  shall  fail  to  satisfy  ourselves 
with  the  new,  the  strange,  and  the  eccentric,  perhaps  we  shall 
find  ourselves  returning  to  the  old  commonplace  and  the 
familiar,  and  perhaps  we  shall  be  able  to  extract  new  delights 
from  them  because  of  the  flights  we  have  taken.  Perhaps 
in  their  turn  the  commonplaces  will  be  again  the  superlatives, 
and  we  shall  be  content  with  the  things  that  come  naturally 
and  in  due  order.  Certain  it  is  that  every  sensitive  soul  feels 
this  longing  for  something  simple  and  elemental  in  the  midst 
of  the  voluminous  and  intricate,  something  free  and  natural 
that  shall  lie  close  to  the  heart  and  really  satisfy  our  best 
desires. 

It  is  not  likely  that  we  shall  greatly  simplify  our  outward 
physical  and  business  affairs.  Probably  it  is  not  desirable 
that  we  should  do  so,  for  we  must  maintain  our  executive 
efl&ciency.  We  have  seen  a  marvelous  development  of  affairs, 
expressed  in  the  renovation  of  a  hundred  old  occupations  and 
the  creation  of  a  thousand  new  ones.  Most  of  these  occu- 
pations and  businesses  are  clear  gain  to  the  world,  and  we  may 
expect  them  to  endure.  This  rise  of  affairs  has  emphasized 
the  contrasts  of  business  and  of  home.  Machinery  and  com- 
plexity belong  to  affairs;  but  a  simpler  and  directer  mental 
attitude  should  belong  to  our  personal  and  private  hours. 
Perhaps  our  greatest  specific  need  is  a  wholesome  return  to 
nature  in  our  moments  of  leisure,  —  all  the  more  important 
now  that  the  moments  of  leisure  are  so  few.  This  return  to 
nature  is  by  no  means  a  cure-all  for  the  ills  of  civilization, 
but  it  is  one  of  the  means  of  restoring  the  proper  balance  and 
proportion  in  our  lives.  It  stands  for  the  antithesis  of  acting 
and  imitation,  for  a  certain  pause  and  repose,  for  a  kind  of 
spiritual  temper,  for  the  development  of  the  inner  life  as  con- 
trasted with  the  externals. 
-  The  outlook  to  nature  is,  of  course,  the  outlook  to  optimism, 
for  nature  is  our  governing  condition  and  is  beyond  the  power 
of  man  to  modify  or  to  correct.     We  look  upward  and  outward 


THE  REALM  OF  THE  COMMONPLACE       127 

to  nature.  Some  persons  have  supposed,  however,  that  the 
"contentment"  preached  by  the  nature-lover  imphes  unvexed 
indifference  to  the  human  affairs  of  the  time,  and  that  there- 
fore it  makes  for  a  kind  of  serene  and  weak  utopianism;  but, 
to  my  mind,  the  outlook  to  nature  makes  for  just  the  reverse 
of  all  this.  If  nature  is  the  norm,  then  the  necessity  for 
correcting  and  amending  the  abuses  that  accompany  civiliza- 
tion becomes  baldly  apparent  by  very  contrast.  The  repose 
of  the  nature-lover  and  the  assiduous  exertion  of  the  man  of 
affairs  are  complementary,  not  antithetical,  states  of  mind. 
The  return  to  nature  affords  the  very  means  of  acquiring  the 
incentive  and  energy  for  ambitious  and  constructive  work  of 
a  high  order;  it  enforces  the  great  truth  that,  in  the  affairs 
of  men,  continued  progress  is  conditioned  upon  a  generous 
discontent  and  diligent  unrest. 

By  nature,  I  mean  the  natural  out-of-doors,  —  the  snow 
and  the  rain,  the  sky,  the  plants,  the  animals,  the  running 
brooks,  and  every  landscape  that  is  easy  of  access  and  unde- 
filed.  Every  person  desires  these  things  in  greater  or  lesser 
degree:  this  is  indicated  by  the  rapidly  spreading  suburban 
movement,  by  the  astonishing  multiplication  of  books  about 
nature.  Yet  there  are  comparatively  very  few  who  have  any 
intimate  contact  with  nature,  or  any  concrete  enjoyment  from 
it,  because  they  lack  information  that  enables  them  to  under- 
stand the  objects  and  phenomena. 

The  currents  of  civilization  tend  always  to  take  us  out  of  our 
environment  rather  than  to  fit  us  into  it.  We  must  recast 
our  habits  of  thought  so  as  to  set  our  faces  nature-ward.  This 
is  far  more  important  than  any  effort  at  mere  simplicity  or 
toward  lopping  off  the  redundancies:  it  is  fundamental  direc- 
tion and  point  of  view. 

The  outlook  to  nature  is  the  outlook  to  what  is  real,  and 
hearty,  and  spontaneous.  Our  eager  civilization  prematurely 
makes  us  mentally  old.  It  may  be  true  that  the  span  of 
man's  life  is  increasing,  but  at  twenty  we  have  the  knowledge 


128  L.  H.  BAILEY 

and  the  perplexities  that  our  grandfathers  had  only  at  forty. 
Our  children  may  now  be  older  when  they  are  graduated  from 
school,  but  the  high  school  course  of  to-day  is  more  complex 
than  was  the  college  course  of  fifty  years  ago.  All  this  has 
a  tendency  to  lessen  the  years  of  free  and  joyous  youth.  You 
have  only  to  see  the  faces  of  boys  and  girls  on  your  city  streets, 
to  discover  how  old  the  young  have  grown  to  be.  In  home 
and  school  our  methods  have  been  largely  those  of  repression: 
this  is  why  the  natural  buoyant  outburst  that  I  saw  on  the 
city  thoroughfare  challenged  such  instant  attention  and 
surprise.     We  need  to  emphasize  the  youthful  life. 

Therefore,  I  preach  the  things  that  we  ourselves  did  not 
make;  for  we  are  all  idolaters,  —  the  things  of  our  hands  we 
worship.  I  preach  the  near-at-hand,  however  plain  and  ordi- 
nary,—  the  sky  in  rain  and  sun;  the  bird  on  its  nest  and  the 
nest  on  its  bough;  the  rough  bark  of  trees ;  the  frost  on  bare 
thin  twigs;  the  mouse  skittering  to  its  burrow;  the  insect 
seeking  its  crevice;  the  smell  of  the  ground;  the  sweet  wind; 
the  leaf  that  clings  to  its  twig  or  that  falls  when  its  work  is 
done.  Wisdom  flows  from  these  as  it  can  never  flow  from 
libraries   and   laboratories. 

"There  be  four  things,"  say  the  Proverbs,  "which  are  little  upon  the 
earth,  but  they  are  exceeding  wise: 

"The  ants  are  a  people  not  strong,  yet  they  prepare  their  meat  in  the 
summer: 

"The  conies  are  but  a  feeble  folk,  yet  make  they  their  houses  in  the 
rocks; 

"The  locusts  have  no  king,  yet  go  they  forth  all  of  them  by  bands; 

"The  spider  taketh  hold  with  her  hands,  and  is  in  kings'  palaces." 

Some  of  us  do  not  enjoy  nature  because  there  is  not  enough 
sheer  excitement  in  it.  It  has  not  enough  dash  and  go  for  this 
uneasy  age;  and  this  is  the  very  reason  why  we  need  the  solace 
and  resource  of  nature  so  much.  On  looking  over  the  lists 
of  Christmas  books  I  was  surprised  to  find  how  often  the 
word    "sensation"    occurs.     In    the    announcement    of    the 


THE  REALM  OF  THE   COMMONPLACE         129 

forthcoming  number  of  a  magazine,  I  find  twenty  articles, 
of  which  at  least  nineteen  are  to  be  "tragic,"  "thrilling," 
"mystery-laden,"  or  otherwise  unusual.  The  twentieth 
one  I  hope  to  read.  One  would  think  that  a  piece  of  writing  is 
valuable  in  porportion  as  it  is  racy,  exciting,  startling,  striking, 
sensational.  In  these  days  of  sensational  sales,  to  have  a 
book  sell  phenomenally  well  is  almost  a  condemnation  of  it. 
An  article  or  book  that  merely  tells  a  plain  story  directly  and 
well  is  too  tame;  so  even  when  we  write  of  nature  we  must 
pick  out  the  unusual,  then  magnify  and  galvanize  it.  From 
this  literature  the  reader  goes  out  to  nature  and  finds  it  slow 
and  uninteresting;  he  must  have  a  faster  pace  and  a  giddier 
whirl  of  events.  He  has  little  power  to  entertain  himself; 
and,  his  eyes  never  having  been  trained  to  see  what  he  looks 
at,  he  discovers  nothing  and  the  world  is  vacuous  and  void. 
He  may  find  temporary  relief  in  some  entertainment  provided 
for  him  out  of  hand,  as  the  so-called  news  of  the  newspapers 
or  some  witless  frippery  on  the  stage.  Yet,  unless  all  poets 
and  philosophers  have  misled  us,  the  keenest  and  most'  re- 
sourceful dehghts  that  men  have  found  have  been  the  still 
small  voices  of  the  open  fields. 

There  is  another  objection  to  much  of  the  nature  writing, 
—  the  fact  that  it  is  unrepresentative  of  nature.  It  exploits 
the  unusual  and  exceptional,  and  therefore  does  not  give  the 
reader  a  truthful  picture  of  common  and  average  conditions. 
This  has  been  true  to  some  extent  even  of  text-books,  —  they 
choose  so-called  "typical"  forms  and  structures,  forgetting 
that  typical  examples  exist  only  in  books  for  purposes  of 
definition.  The  best  nature  writing,  as  I  conceive  of  it,  is 
that  which  portrays  the  commonplace  so  truthfully  and  so 
clearly  that  the  reader  forthwith  goes  out  to  see  for  himself. 
Some  day  we  shall  care  less  for  the  marvelous  beasts  of  some 
far-off  country  than  for  the  mice  and  squirrels  and  wood- 
chucks  of  our  own  fields.  If  I  were  a  naturalist,  I  should  go 
forthwith  to  studv  the  mice  and  then  write  of  them  for  all 


I30  L.   H.   BAILEY 

children;  for,  of  all  untamed  animals,  what  ones  are  known  to 
a  greater  number  of  children?  —  and  yet  what  do  the  children 
know  except  that  they  have  been  early  taught  by  their  elders 
to  abhor  these  animals? 

The  embodiment  of  all  grace  and  agility,  of  all  quick  dis- 
patch, of  all  neat  habits  and  of  comeliness,  of  unseen  and 
devious  ways,  is  the  mouse.  What  other  object  was  ever  so 
swift  and  silent  and  graceful  as  it  slides  along  the  corners  of 
your  room  as  noiseless  as  a  shadow!  What  explorer  was  ever 
so  successful  as  it  peers  into  drawers  and  sniffs  in  cupboards! 
A  few  years  ago  a  mouse  was  my  nightly  companion  for 
perhaps  a  month.  He  was  employed  in  some  great  engineering 
enterprise  in  the  timber  work  over  my  chamber.  Hour  by 
hour  he  alternately  gnawed  rapidly,  stopped,  gnawed  and 
stopped  again,  in  regular  intermittence.  I  suppose  that  in 
the  moments  of  silence  he  was  listening  for  eavesdroppers; 
or  perhaps  he  was  resting.  He  began  far  at  one  side  of  my 
ceiling  and  worked  steadily  toward  the  center.  I  wondered 
what  curious  plans  he  had  in  his  head  and  whether  he  had 
calculated  on  the  cost  of  all  his  labor.  At  length  the  region 
of  his  excavations  lay  immediately  over  my  head,  and  my 
interest  in  him,  although  he  was  unseen,  became  quite  unusual. 
At  last  he  seemed  to  have  made  an  extra  effort,  another  silence 
came,  —  a  silence  that  was  never  broken.  For  nights  I 
waited;  and  to  this  day  I  wonder.  In  my  boyhood  the  field 
mice  were  a  constant  source  of  entertainment  and  mystery. 
I  found  them  scuddled  in  the  corn  shocks,  burrowed  in  the 
dry  grass,  nesting  in  the  corn-crib.  I  saw  their  faint  narrow 
trails  on  new-fallen  snow,  leading  into  strange  pigmy  caverns. 
One  winter  I  helped  to  fell  a  tree,  in  the  hollow  hole  of  which 
we  found  a  full  peck  of  beechnuts  neatly  shelled  and  stored 
against  the  cold.  Let  us  have  the  commonplace,  for  indeed 
it  is  rare! 

Just  now  I  said  something  of  the  "news."  It  is  important 
that  we  recur  to  this  subject,  since  we  are  a  people  of  news 


THE  REALM  OF  THE   COMMONPLACE        131 

readers,  and  continuous  reading  strongly,  though  silently, 
influences  our  outlook  toward  nature  and  affairs.  Much 
of  what  is  called  news  is  so  unimportant  that  it  is  not  worth 
the  while  of  a  person  whose  time  is  of  value;  but  my  chief 
objection  to  it,  as  to  some  of  the  nature  writing,  is  that  it  is 
no  way  representative  of  human  affairs,  —  if  it  were,  I  suppose 
it  would  not  be  new  and  therefore  would  not  be  news.  It  is 
made  up  to  a  large  extent  of  exceptional  and  meaningless 
episodes  and  extravagancies.  Yesterday  I  saw  hundreds 
of  persons  on  cars  and  ferries  eagerly  reading  the  "news." 
I  bought  a  paper  resplendent  with  photography  and  colored 
ink.  The  first  page  had  eight  articles,  seven  of  which  were 
devoted  to  cases  of  divorce,  common  rascality  and  crime, 
and  unimportant  local  accidents,  all  displayed  as  if  it  would 
advantage  a  man  to  read  them.  Only  one  article  dealt  with 
public  affairs,  and  this  was  hidden  underneath  small  headlines. 
The  newspaper  had  no  sense  of  proportion.  All  the  details 
of  a  divorce  case  were  given  with  as  much  circumstantial 
minutiae  as  if  it  were  of  equal  importance  with  a  debate  in 
Congress  or  the  deliberations  of  the  international  peace  con- 
ference. As  I  was  about  to  write  these  sentences,  I  chanced 
to  pick  up  the  following  editorial  paragraph  from  a  country 
newspaper  (the  Seneca  Falls,  N.Y.,  Reveille): 

The  sound  and  wholesome  quahties  which  make  for  all  that  is  most 
prized  in  Ufe  are  to  be  found  in  the  great  masses  of  the  people,  and  are 
scarcely  touched  by  the  currents  of  the  time  which  make  for  evil,  and  with 
which  the  news  of  the  day  is  necessarily  so  largely  concerned.  It  is  not 
the  doings  or  the  ways  of  the  great  bulk  of  the  people  —  those  who  quietly 
earn  a  modest  living  by  ordinary  industry  —  that  furnish  much  material 
either  for  news  or  for  comment.  We  take  all  that  for  granted,  and  when 
we  think  of  the  tendencies  of  the  time,  we  almost  forget  its  existence.  When 
a  touch  of  nature  happens  to  bring  into  unaccustomed  relief  the  existence 
of  the  homely  but  sturdy  and  sterling  virtues  of  the  great  American  people, 
their  right-mindedness  and  true-heartedness,  it  is  well  to  draw  from  the 
event  the  lesson  that  manhood  and  merit  are  after  all  the  things  which 
create  the  very  best  character  for  our  country  and  government. 


132  L.   H.   BAILEY 

We  gather  from  this  extract  the  opinion  that  what  we  call 
the  "slow"  and  "dull"  may,  after  all,  be  the  saving  strength 
of  the  nation.  In  the  hamlets  and  villages  and  small  country 
cities,  great  problems  are  working  themselves  out  just  as 
effectively  as  in  the  mighty  cities;  and  although  slowly,  or 
even  because  slowly,  they  may  be  working  out  more  funda- 
mentally than  elsewhere.  The  great  mass  of  mankind  is 
unrecorded  and  practically  unknown.  A  few  of  us  are  actors, 
and  we  pass  with  some  noise  and  flourish  across  the  stage; 
but  the  sources  of  events  are  behind  and  beyond.  I  have 
heard  the  saying  attributed  to  a  statesman  that  if  the  discus- 
sions either  at  the  country  four-corners  or  in  the  president's 
cabinet  were  to  cease,  it  were  better  to  do  away  with  the  cab- 
inet. Public  opinion  does  not  seem  to  originate  to  any  extent 
with  the  leaders:  the  leaders  are  more  likely  to  catch  and 
voice  the  crystallizing  sentiments  of  the  commonplace,  orig- 
inating slowly  and  perhaps  unconsciously  with  those  who  work 
first-handed  with  the  forces  that  make  for  wealth. 

We  might  go  even  farther  than  the  hamlet  or  the  town,  — 
to  the  family  unit  on  the  remotest  farm.  This  unit  is  con- 
sidered by  most  of  the  other  members  of  the  race  to  be  the 
commonplace  of  the  commonplace;  yet,  along  with  the  farm- 
ing, human  problems  are  being  worked  out.  There  boys 
and  girls  are  being  reared  and  even  trained,  who  some  day 
may  come  to  your  cities  and  distance  your  own  sons  and 
daughters;  for  it  is  a  discouraging  fact  that,  with  all  we  are 
doing  for  schooling,  merit  and  efficiency  do  not  seem  to  in- 
crease in  proportion,  and  those  whom  we  are  in  the  habit  of 
calling  uneducated  may  take  the  highest  prizes  that  the  world 
has  to  give.  The  farm,  in  its  turn,  is  being  exploited  in  our 
current  literature;  and,  significantly  enough,  much  of  this 
literature  is  of  the  sensational  order.  Of  all  things  that 
should  not  be  sensationalized,  the  farm  is  the  chief.  The 
farm  need  not  be  prosaic  nor  devoid  of  intellectual  interest; 
but  its  very  spirit  is  that  of  stabiHty  and  constancy.     We 


THE  REALM  OF  THE   COMMONPLACE        133 

should  develop  the  ideals  in  every  occupation;  but  the  ideal 
should  follow  closely  the  facts  and  the  spirit  of  the  real. 
We  need  to  idealize  the  commonplace,  for  then  we  show  its 
possibilities. 

We  need  a  new  literature  of  nature  and  the  open  country, 
a  literature  that  shall  not  be  merely  and  plainly  descriptive. 
We  need  short,  sharp,  quick,  direct  word-pictures  that  shall 
place  the  object  before  us  as  vividly  as  the  painter  would 
outline  some  strong  figure  with  a  few  bold  strokes  of  his 
brush.  Every  object  and  every  common  labor  awaken  some 
response  beyond  themselves,  and  this  response  can  be  set  to 
words.  The  man  employed  at  useful  and  spontaneous  work 
is  a  poetic  figure,  full  of  prophecy  and  of  hope.  The  cow  in 
the  field,  the  tree  against  the  sky,  the  fields  newly  plowed, 
the  crows  flapping  home  at  night,  the  man  at  his  work,  the 
woman  at  her  work,  the  child  at  its  play  —  these  all  are 
worth  the  stroke  of  the  artist. 

I  saw  a  man  walking  across  the  fields,  with  spade  on  his 
shoulder  and  dog  at  his  side;  I  saw  his  firm  long  stride;  I 
saw  his  left  arm  swing;  I  saw  the  weeds  fall  beneath  his  feet; 
I  saw  the  broad  straight  path  that  he  left  in  the  grass.  There 
were  brown  fields,  and  woods  in  the  first  tint  of  autumn. 
I  saw  birds;  and  in  the  distance  was  the  rim  of  the  sky.  And 
beyond  him,  I  saw  the  open  ditch  to  which  he  was  returning. 

With  the  nature  writers  I  like  to  include  some  of  the  authors 
who  do  not  write  specific  natural  history  topics.  If  they  write 
from  the  out-of-doors,  with  a  keen  love  of  it  and  a  knowledge 
of  what  it  comprises,  adding  to  it  touches  of  good  human 
nature,  then  they  lead  men  to  the  open  as  effectively  as  those 
to  whom  we  customarily  apply  the  term  "nature- writer." 
The  landscape  is  as  important  as  any  object  that  it  contains, 
and  the  human  sentiment  is  more  important  than  either. 
These  writers  invariably  write  the  commonplace,  and  touch 
it  into  life  and  meaning.  One  of  the  greatest  of  these  writers, 
to    my    thinking,    is    Stevenson,  —  simple,    direct,    youthful. 


134 


L.  H.   BAILEY 


tender  and  heartsome.     His  life  was  with  nature;    his  work 
touches  the  cosmic  and  elemental. 

O  Stevenson !     On  far  Samoa's  tropic  shore 

You  moored  your  slender  bark, 

And  there  in  calm  secludedness  did  hve 

To  write  the  spirit  of  your  gentle  soul, 

And  over  all  the  world  to  poiir 

The  fragrance  from  the  tropic  of  your  heart. 

And  thence  you  passed  beyond,  — 

Passed  not  with  the  proud  acclaim 

Of  pageant  and  tempestuous  bells 

That  drown  themselves  in  black  forgetfulness,  — 

But  fell  away  as  falls  the  wind  at  eventide; 

And  all  the  trees  on  all  the  isles  and  shores 

Bowed  their  heads  in  solitude. 

I  like  to  think  that  our  nature  poetry  is  also  leading  us 
natureward  in  a  very  practical  way,  since  it  is  becoming  more 
personal  and  definite,  and  brings  us  into  closer  touch  with 
specific  objects  and  demands  greater  knowledge  of  them. 
It  has  been  the  progress  of  our  attitude  toward  nature  to 
add  the  concrete  to  the  abstract;  and  this  may  be  expected 
to  proceed  so  far  that  every  object  of  the  environment  and 
every  detail  of  our  lives  will  be  touched  with  inspiration. 
If  I  cannot  catch  a  note  of  inspiration  from  the  plainest  thing 
that  I  touch,  then  to  that  extent  my  life  is  empty  and  devoid 
of  hope  and  outlook.  The  great  voices  appealed  to  the  early 
Greeks,  —  the  thunder,  the  roaring  wind,  the  roll  of  the 
waves,  the  noise  of  war;  but  we  do  not  know  that  the  shape 
of  the  leaf,  and  the  call  of  the  young  bird,  and  the  soft  gray 
rain,  appealed  much  to  them.  The  Greek  lyrics  are  mostly 
personal  or  personifying,  and  lack  any  intimate  touch  with 
the  phases  of  natural  phenomena.  As  men  have  come  more 
and  more  to  know  the  near-at-hand  and  the  real  in  nature, 
this  knowledge  has  been  interpreted  in  the  poetry;  for  poetry 
always  reflects  the  spirit  of  the  time.  All  English  poetry 
illustrates  this  general  tendency;    but  what  we  are  in   the 


THE   REALM  OF  THE   COMMONPLACE        135 

habit  of  calling  "nature  poetry"  is  of  comparatively  recent 
growth.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  we  shall  never  have  less 
nature  poetry  that  expresses  the  larger  moods;  but  we  must 
have  more  that  is  specific  and  concrete  in  natural  history 
details,  and  which  will  still  be  poetry,  for  the  race  is  coming 
nearer  to  the  environment  in  which  it  lives.  The  individual 
seems  sometimes  to  recapitulate  the  experience  of  the  race; 
as  each  of  us  grows  old  and  conventionalities  lose  their  mean- 
ing and  the  small  voices  make  a  stronger  appeal,  we  are 
conscious  that  we  have  had  Wordsworth's  experience: 

In  youth  from  rock  to  rock  I  went, 
From  hill  to  hiU  in  discontent, 
Of  pleasure  high  and  tvu-bulent, 

Most  pleased  when  most  uneasy; 
But  now  my  own  delights  I  make,  — 
My  thirst  from  every  riU  can  slake, 
And  gladly  Nature's  love  partake 

Of  thee,  sweet  Daisy! 

It  is  often  said  that  as  this  is  a  practical  age,  with  industrial- 
ism developing  everywhere,  therefore  poetry  must  die  away. 
Nothing  could  be  farther  from  the  truth.  It  is  true  that 
industrialism  is  developing  at  great  pace;  this,  in  fact,  is  the 
glory  of  our  time,  for  civilization  has  entered  on  a  new  epoch. 
Men's  minds  are  concerned  with  things  that  never  concerned 
them  before;  yet,  the  resources  of  the  old  earth  have  merely 
been  touched  here  and  there,  and  the  wealth  of  mankind  will 
increase.  But  all  this  does  not  mean  that  sentiment  is  to  be 
crushed  or  that  the  horizon  of  imagination  is  to  be  contracted, 
but  rather  the  reverse.  The  flights  of  science  and  of  truth 
are,  after  all,  greater  than  the  flights  of  fancy.  If  sentiment 
is  necessarily  eliminated  from  business  transactions,  it  is  all 
the  more  important  that  it  be  added  to  the  recreation  and  the 
leisure.  The  great  constructive  agencies  of  the  time  are 
essentially  poetic;  and  the  world  never  needed  poetry  so  much 
as  now.   This  thought  is  forcibly  expressed  in  Charles  Eliot 


136  L.   H.   BAILEY 

Norton's  advice,  that  has  now  been  so  effectively  used  by 
the  press: 

Whatever  your  occupation  may  be.  and  however  crowded  your  hours 
with  affairs,  do  not  fail  to  secure  at  least  a  few  minutes  every  day  for 
refreshment  of  your  inner  life  with  a  bit  of  poetry. 

But  this  poetry  of  nature  must  be  of  the  new  kind.  Per- 
haps the  day  of  the  formal  "sustained"  poem  has  passed,  — 
with  its  ambitious  disquisitions,  long  periods,  heavy  rhetoric, 
labored  metaphors.  It  is  a  question,  also,  whether  even  the 
sonnet,  although  highly  artistic,  is  free  and  plastic  enough  to 
express  the  nature-feeling  of  our  time;  for  this  feeling  seems 
to  be  more  and  more  impatient  of  historical  limits  and  forms. 
The  new  nature  poetry  must  be  crystal  clear,  for  we  have  no 
time  for  riddles,  even  though  they  are  set  in  metre  and  rhyme. 
It  must  be  definite,  and  it  must  apply.  The  best  nature 
poetry  will  be  hopeful,  joyous,  and  modern.  At  least  some 
of  it  must  deal  with  objects,  phenomena,  and  emotions  that 
are  common  to  common  men:  then  it  will  become  a  part  of 
men's  lives,  not  merely  an  accomplishment  to  be  used  with 
proper  manners  and  on  occasion.  Perhaps  this  more  vital 
song  will  relieve  poetry  writing  of  much  that  is  too  theoretical 
and  fine-spun;  and  I  hope  that  it  may  also  divert  the  current 
from  the  weak  and  petty  lovelorn  type  of  verse-making 
which  exploits  personal  love  affairs  that  ought  to  be  too 
private  and  sacred  for  publication  and  which  in  the  end 
contributes  nothing  to  the  poetry  of  emotion. 

This  poetry,  whether  its  flight  is  small  or  great,  must  be 
born  of  experience,  and  must  be  intrinsic;  it  must  be  the 
expression  of  a  full  heart,  not  the  sentiment  of  a  looker-on. 
It  must  not  be  assumed  or  forced.  No  man  whose  heart  is 
not  full  of  the  beauty  and  meaning  of  a  leaf  should  write 
even  a  distich  on  the  leaf.  So,  too,  the  nature  poem  of  wide 
reach  must  be  the  poem  of  the  man  who  is  free.  Such  poetry 
must  spring  from  the  open  air;  perhaps  it  must  be  set  to  words 
there,  —  at  least  outside   the  city.      The  city  will  have  its 


THE   REALM  OF   THE   COMMONPLACE        137 

great  poems,  but  they  will  rise  out  of  the  city  as  Venus  rose 
out  of  the  sea.  It  seems  to  me  that  we  have  really  very 
little  genuine  nature  poetry.  Our  poets,  in  spirit  or  in  fact, 
now  write  largely  from  the  city  and  the  study  outward,  and 
their  work  is  bookish.  The  product  is  the  cultured  poetry 
of  the  library  and  the  study,  and  is  under  the  influence  of 
the  schools.  It  continues  to  be  burdened  with  outworn  and 
useless  metaphor,  and  it  follows  traditional  forms  of  verse 
and  line,  as  if  verse  and  line  were  more  than  essence.  Walt 
Whitman  —  poet  of  the  commonplace  —  has  most  com- 
pletely freed  himself  from  the  bondage  of  literary  form;  and 
he  is  only  an  earnest  of  what  shall  come.  It  is  doubtful 
whether  the  great  nature  poet  will  be  taught  in  the  formal 
curricula  of  the  schools.  His  spirit  and  his  method  will  be 
as  unconfined  as  the  inaccessible  mountains,  the  great  plains, 
or  the  open  sea.  His  poetry  must  be  much  more  than  pleas- 
ing and  local:   it  must  be  rugged  and  continental. 

It  must  be  true  that  the  appreciation  of  poetry  is  increasing; 
and  poetry  is  prophecy.  If  it  is  not  increasing,  then  our 
education  is  worse  than  most  of  us  think;  but  if  appreciation 
of  poetry  is  increasing,  then  we  are  acquiring  a  stronger  hold 
on  aspirations  that  are  simple  and  elemental  and  universal. 
I  am  constantly  surprised  at  the  poems  that  busy  and  practi- 
cal men  know;  and  also  at  the  poetry  that  many  busy  men 
can  write.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  there  were  never 
so  many  poets  in  the  world  as  now.  Poetry-making  is  not 
an  occupation,  but  the  incidental  spark  that  strikes  off  from 
useful  labor;  it  is  the  result  of  full  and  serious  lives.  The 
roll  of  machinery  is  rhythm  and  rhyme;  the  blowing  of  the 
wind  is  music. 

It  has  been  my  fortune  to  have  had  many  years'  experience 
in  the  teaching  of  farm  boys.  They  are  interesting  boys,  — 
strong,  virile,  courageous.  They  have  not  been  stuffed  and 
pampered,  and  have  not  had  too  much  schooling.  They 
have  had  the  tremendous  advantage  of  having  been  let  alone, 


138  L.    H.   BAILEY 

and  of  having  developed  naturally.  They  hold  their  youth ; 
their  minds  are  capable  of  receiving  new  impressions  with 
faith  and  enthusiasm.  It  is  my  habit  to  call  these  agricul- 
tural students  together  twice  each  month,  and,  amongst  other 
exercises,  to  read  them  poetry.  Usually  at  first  they  are 
surprised;  they  had  not  thought  of  it  before;  or  they  thought 
poetry  is  for  girls:  but  they  come  again.  They  may  hide  it, 
but  these  farm  boys  are  as  full  of  sentiment  as  an  egg  of  meat. 
There  was  one  fellow  who  had  to  support  himself  and  help 
members  of  his  family.  He  was  a  good  student,  but  the 
lines  of  his  life  had  been  hard.  Whenever  he  called  at  my 
office  it  was  to  ask  advice  about  money  affairs  or  to  tell  me 
of  difficulties  that  he  feared  he  could  not  overcome.  Appar- 
ently there  was  no  sentiment  in  his  life,  and  no  room  for  it. 
One  evening  I  read  to  the  students  Matthew  Arnold's  "Buried 
Life."  The  next  day,  Jenkins  came  to  my  office,  entered 
hesitatingly  as  if  requesting  something  that  he  might  not 
have,  and  asked  whether  I  would  loan  him  the  poem  till  he 
could  learn  it,  for  he  could  not  afford  to  buy. 

I  believe,  then,  in  the  power  of  poetry,  —  in  its  power  to 
put  a  man  at  work  with  a  song  on  his  lips,  and  to  set  the  mind 
toward  nature  and  naturalness.  I  hke  the  definite  poem  of 
a  tree,  or  a  stone,  or  a  dog,  or  a  garden,  if  only  it  tells  the 
truth  and  stops  when  the  truth  is  told.  The  old-time  short 
nature  poem  was  wont  only  to  point  a  moral,  —  usually 
dubious  and  far-fetched  and  factitious  —  having  httle  vitality 
of  its  own.  It  really  was  not  a  nature  poem,  for  the  real 
nature  poem  is  its  own  moral.  The  poems  and  stories  of  the 
Old  Testament  are  always  interesting  to  my  students  because 
they  have  something  to  say,  they  are  direct,  not  surfeited 
with  adjectives  or  burdened  with  rhetoric,  and  they  are 
moral  because  they  tell  the  truth  and  do  not  preach.  We 
need  to  treasure  the  nature  poem  because  it  contains  the 
elements  of  youth.  So  weary-old  have  we  grown  that  we 
seem  to  be  afraid  to  express  our  real  selves;   when  now  and 


THE  REALM  OF  THE   COMMONPLACE        139 

then  some  person  expresses  himself  in  high  places  uncon- 
ventionally and  with  native  feeling,  we  hail  him  as  a  "strong 
man."  It  is  only  when  we  are  with  ourselves  under  the  free 
open  heaven  that  we  seem  to  be  able  to  feel  things  keenly 
and  newly  and  freshly.  When  in  the  open  I  am  hopeful  and 
resilient;  when  in  my  study  I  am  conventional  and  dull. 
I  wrote  this  lecture  in  my  study. 

We  need  now  and  then  to  take  ourselves  away  from  men 
and  the  crowd  and  conventionalities,  and  go  into  the  silence, 
for  the  silence  is  the  greatest  of  teachers.  Walt  Whitman 
expresses  this  well: 

When  I  heard  the  learn'd  astronomer, 
When  the  proofs,  the  figures,  were 

ranged  in  columns  before  me, 
When  I  was  shown  the  charts  and 

diagrams,  to  add,  divide,  and  measure  them. 
When  I  sitting  heard  the  astronomer  where 

he  lectured  with  much  applause  in  the  lecture-room, 
How  soon  tmaccountable  I  became  tired  and  sick. 
Till  rising  and  ghding  out  I  wander'd 

off  by  myself. 
In  the  mystical  and  moist  night-air,  and 

from  time  to  time, 
Look'd  up  in  perfect  silence  at  the  stars. 

It  will  be  gleaned  from  what  has  been  said  that  we  are  to 
consider  literature,  including  poetry,  to  be  one  of  the  means 
of  the  enjoyment  of  nature.  It  is  fundamentally  important, 
however,  that  we  regard  literature  only  as  a  means:  it  is  not 
nature.  Literature  has  its  own  place  and  value;  beyond 
all  this,  is  our  point  of  view  toward  the  natural  world  in 
which  we  live.  One  can  never  be  fully  appreciative  of  this 
natural  world  unless  he  has  technical  knowledge  of  some 
special  part  of  it.  One  assuredly  cannot  be  zoologist,  geolo- 
gist, botanist,  and  meteorologist;  but  if  he  has  intimate 
personal  knowledge  of  one  limited  part,  he  has  the  key  to 
the  whole.     As  the  real  love  of  nature  rests  on  knowledge, 


I40  L.   H.   BAILEY 

the  person  must  have  pursued  some  branch  of  natural  history 
for  a  time  with  serious  purpose,  —  the  purpose  to  discover 
and  to  know  the  subject-matter  for  himself.  This  gives  him 
point  of  view;  tells  him  what  to  look  for;  enables  him  to 
look  beneath  the  surface;  trains  his  judgment  as  to  causes 
and  effects;  guides  him  in  distinguishing  the  essential;  saves 
him  from  humiliating  error. 

But  before  one  takes  up  any  serious  bit  of  study  for  him- 
self, he  must  have  the  desire  to  take  it  up.  In  every  person 
there  is  a  latent  desire  to  know  something  of  the  enclosing 
world.  This  desire  is  usually  ironed  out  in  the  intellectual 
laundering  processes.  It  is  important  that  some  one  lead  on 
this  desire  before  it  is  overwhelmed  by  a  multitude  of  less 
relevant  affairs.  In  some  persons  this  native  desire  is  so 
strong  that  nothing  extinguishes  it:  these  persons  become 
professional  investigators  and  widen  the  boundaries  of  knowl- 
edge. Most  of  us,  however,  must  give  our  main  thought  to 
other  matters,  and  let  the  outlook  to  nature  be  chiefly  a 
well-guided  affection.  Having  this  reasonable  affection,  the 
proper  literature  deepens  it  and  adds  a  charm  of  its  own. 

The  best  possible  introduction  to  nature  is  that  afforded 
by  a  sympathetic  person  who  knows  some  aspect  of  nature 
well.  You  imbibe  your  friend's  enthusiasm  at  the  same  time 
that  you  learn  birds,  or  plants,  or  fishes,  or  the  sculpturing 
of  the  fields.  I  say  enthusiasm,  for  this  is  quite  as  important 
as  knowledge,  —  perhaps  it  is  more  important  than  knowl- 
edge. But  by  enthusiasm  I  mean  never  mere  exclamatory 
demonstration,  but  that  quiet  and  persistent  zeal  that  follows 
a  subject  to  the  end  for  the  love  of  it,  even  though  it  take  a 
month.  This  person  need  not  be  a  professed  "scientist," 
unless  he  is  also  a  good  teacher  and  knows  what  is  most 
important  in  the  subject  and  most  relevant  to  you.  The 
earlier  the  child  has  such  a  guide  —  if  arrived  at  the  age  of 
reason  —  the  more  vital  and  lasting  the  effect:  even  one  or 
two  excursions  afield  may  change  the  point  of  view  and  open 


THE  REALM  OF  THE   COMMONPLACE        141 

the  way  for  new  experiences,  although  neither  the  guide  nor 
the  child  may  be  aware  of  it  at  the  time.  The  ideal  guide 
was  "Gramp,"  as  James  Buckham  knew  him  {Country  Life 
in  A  merica) : 

What  a  man  to  fish  and  camp, 

What  a  hand  to  hunt  and  tramp 

Up  and  down  the  woods,  was  Gramp! 

How  he  led  me,  high  and  low. 
Plunging  through  the  brush  and  snow! 
Boy-like,  how  I  loved  to  go ! 

Oh,  the  sweet  days  that  we  spent 
In  the  forest's  pure  content! 
Oh,  the  long,  still  miles  we  went! 

Keen-eyed  Gramp!  How  well  he  knew 
Where  the  biggest  berries  grew, 
Where  the  witch-hke  woodcock  flew! 

Learned  was  he  in  all  the  lore 
Of  the  wood-wise  men  of  yore  — 
Subtle  knowledge,  taught  no  more. 

Ah,  a  happy  boy  was  I, 

Loving  God's  free  woods  and  sky. 

With  dear  Gramp  to  teach  me  why! 

That  which  is  first  worth  knowing  is  that  which  is  nearest 
at  hand.  The  nearest  at  hand,  in  the  natural  environment, 
is  the  weather.  Every  day  of  our  lives,  on  land  or  sea,  whether 
we  will  or  no,  the  air  and  the  clouds  and  the  sky  surround  us. 
So  variable  is  this  environment,  from  morning  till  evening 
and  from  evening  till  morning  and  from  season  to  season, 
that  we  are  always  conscious  of  it.  It  is  to  the  changes  in 
this  environment  that  we  apply  the  folk-word  "weather,"  — 
that  is  akin  to  wind.  No  man  is  efficient  who  is  at  cross- 
purposes  with  the  main  currents  of  his  life;  no  man  is  content 
and  happy  who  is  out  of  sympathy  with  the  environment  in 
which  he  is  born  to  live:    so  the  habit  of  grumbling  at  the 


142  L.   H.   BAILEY 

weather  is  the  most  senseless  and  futile  of  all  expenditures 
of  human  effort.  Day  by  day  we  complain  and  fret  at  the 
weather,  and  when  we  are  done  with  it  we  have  —  the  weather. 
There  is  no  other  effort  at  which  human  beings  are  so  per- 
sistent, and  none  at  which  they  are  so  universally  unsuccessful. 
The  same  amount  of  energy  put  into  productive  wholesome 
work  would  have  set  civilization  far  in  advance  of  its  present 
state.  "What  cannot  be  cured  must  be  endured;"  but  there 
is  really  nothing  in  the  weather  to  cure.  It  is  not  a  human 
institution,  and  therefore  it  cannot  be  "bad."  I  have  seen 
bad  men,  have  read  h)ad  books,  have  made  bad  lectures, 
have  lived  two  years  about  Boston,  —  I  have  never  seen  bad 
weather! 

"Bad  weather"  is  mainly  the  fear  of  spoiling  our  clothes. 
Fancy  clothing  is  one  of  the  greatest  obstacles  to  a  knowledge 
of  nature:  in  this  regard,  the  farm  boy  has  an  immense 
advantage.  It  is  a  misfortune  not  to  have  gone  barefoot  in 
one's  youth.  A  man  cannot  be  a  naturalist  in  patent-leather 
shoes.  The  perfecting  of  the  manufacture  of  elaborate  and 
fragile  fabrics  correlates  well  with  our  growing  habit  of  living 
indoors.  Our  clothing  is  made  chiefly  for  fair  weather; 
when  it  becomes  worn  we  use  it  for  stormy  weather,  although 
it  may  be  in  no  respect  stormy  weather  clothing.  If  our 
clothes  are  not  made  for  the  weather,  then  we  have  failed 
to  adapt  ourselves  to  our  environment,  and  we  are  in  worse 
state  than  the  beasts  of  the  field.  Much  of  our  clothing 
serves  neither  art  nor  utility.  Nothing  can  be  more  pro- 
hibitive of  an  interest  in  nature  than  a  millinery  "hat,"  even 
though  it  be  distinguished  for  its  floriculture,  landscape 
gardening,  and  natural  history. 

The  discomforts  of  the  weather  are  largely  the  result  of 
unsuitable  garments.  I  am  always  interested,  when  abroad 
with  persons,  in  noting  the  various  mental  attitudes  toward 
wind;  and  it  is  apparent  that  most  of  the  displeasure  from 
the  wind  arises  from  fear  of  disarranging  the  coiffure  or  from 


THE   REALM  OF  THE   COMMONPLACE        143 

the   difficulty   of   controlling   a   garment.     Let   us    sing    the 
wind! 

The  \vind,  the  wind, 

The  moaning  wind! 
In  monotone 
Alone,  alone 
It  weeps  and  groans, 
It  croons  and  moans. 

And  the  chilly  moon 

Rides  aloft  at  noon 

In  the  moaning,  moaning  wind. 

The  \vind,  the  wind, 

The  thieving  wind! 
It  whisks  and  starts, 
It  scuds  and  darts, 
It  flings  the  sheaves,  , 

It  shakes  the  leaves. 

And  the  apples  lie 

Where  the  weeds  are  high 

In  the  thieving,  thieving  wind. 

The  wind,  the  wind. 

The  summer  wind! 
In  idle  ease 
Thro'  weeds  and  trees 
It  wafts  and  woos. 
It  soothes  and  sues. 

And  I  fall  asleep 

Where  the  grass  is  deep 

In  the  summer,  summer  wind. 

The  wind,  the  wind, 

The  winter  wind ! 
It  sweeps  and  soars, 
It  howls  and  roars. 
It  drives  the  snow, 
It  piles  the  floe, 

And  the  drifting  sky 

Runs  sterile  and  dry 

In  the  winter,  winter  wind. 


144  L.   H.   BAILEY 

Our  estimate  of  weather  is  perhaps  the  best  criterion  of 
our  outlook  on  nature  and  the  world.  The  first  fault  that 
I  would  correct  in  mankind  is  the  habit  of  grumbling  at  the 
weather.  We  should  put  the  child  right  toward  the  world 
in  which  he  is  to  live.  What  would  you  think  of  the  mariner 
who  goes  to  sea  only  in  fair  weather?  What  have  not  the 
weather  and  the  climate  done  for  the  steadiness  and  virility 
of  the  people  of  New  England?  And  is  this  influence  working 
as  strongly  to-day  as  in  the  times  when  we  had  learned  less 
how  to  escape  the  weather?  We  must  believe  in  all  physical 
comfort,  —  it  contributes  to  the  amount  of  work  that  we  can 
accomplish;  but  we  have  forgotten  that  it  is  possible  to 
bear  an  open  storm  with  equanimity  and  comfort.  The 
person  who  has  never  been  caught  in  rain  and  enjoyed  it  has 
missed  a  privilege  and  a  blessing.  I  never  want  to  live  in 
one  of  those  featureless  climates  that  cannot  get  up  spunk 
enough  to  raise  a  storm.  Give  us  the  rain  and  the  hail  and 
the  snow,  the  mist,  the  crashing  thunder,  and  the  cold  biting 
wind!  Let  us  be  men  enough  to  face  it,  and  poets  enough  to 
enjoy  it.  In  "bad"  weather  is  the  time  to  go  abroad  in  field 
and  wood.  You  are  fellow  then  with  bird  and  stream  and 
tree;  and  you  are  escaped  from  the  crowd  that  is  forever 
crying  and  clanging  at  your  heels. 

Weather  is  the  universal  environing  condition:  it  is  but  a 
step  from  this  environment  to  the  special  objects  therein. 
The  customary  objects  are  the  ones  that  should  first  receive 
attention.  Do  not  wander  in  remote  places  or  in  foreign 
lands  merely  to  find  nature:  she  is  at  your  door.  Touch 
the  things  near  at  hand:  you  will  then  understand  the  things 
far  away.  The  first  consideration  of  special  study  should  be 
the  inhabitants  of  your  yard  and  garden  :  they  are  yours; 
or  if  they  are  not  yours,  you  are  not  living  a  right  life.  Do 
you  wish  to  study  botany?  There  are  weeds  in  your  door- 
yard  or  trees  on  your  lawn.  You  say  that  they  are  not  in- 
teresting:   that  is  because  you  do  not  know  them.     Every 


THE   REALM  OF  THE   COMMONPLACE        145 

plant  is  as  interesting  as  every  other  plant;  if  not,  the  fault 
is  not  with  the  plant.  We  have  made  the  mistake  all  along 
of  studying  only  special  cases.  We  seem  to  have  made  up 
our  minds  that  certain  features  are  interesting  and  that  all 
other  features  are  not.  It  is  no  mere  accident  that  many 
persons  like  plants  and  animals  but  dislike  botany  and  zoology. 
It  is  more  important  to  study  plants  than  special  subjects  as 
exemplified  in  plants.  Why  does  the  weed  grow  just  there? 
Answer  that,  and  you  have  put  yourself  in  pertinent  relation 
with  the  world  out-of-doors. 

Of  course  he  who  is  to  lead  an  effective  and  reposeful  life 
must  be  in  sympathy  also  with  artificial  environments,  as 
factories  and  streets;  but  it  is  not  my  special  purpose  to 
teach  of  these.  The  natural  environment  is  the  more  impor- 
tant, because  it  is  the  condition  of  our  existence.  The  other 
environments  are  incidental,  human,  capable  of  great  im- 
provement; yet  we  are  brought  into  sympathetic  touch  with 
them  if  we  have  had  the  training  of  a  wholesome  outlook  to 
nature.     I  like  Timrod's  sonnet  to  the  factory  smoke: 

I  scarcely  grieve,  O  Nature!  at  the  lot 

That  pent  my  life  within  a  city's  bounds, 

And  shut  me  from  thy  sweetest  sights  and  sounds. 

Perhaps  I  had  not  learned,  if  some  lone  cot 

Had  nursed  a  dreamy  childhood,  what  the  mart 

Taught  me  amid  its  turmoil;  so  my  youth 

Had  missed  full  many  a  stem  but  wholesome  truth. 

Here,  too,  O  Nature!  in  this  haunt  of  Art, 

Thy  power  is  on  me,  and  I  own  thy  thrall. 

There  is  no  unimpressive  spot  on  earth! 

The  beauty  of  the  stars  is  over  all. 

And  Day  and  Darkness  visit  every  hearth. 

Clouds  do  not  scorn  us;  yonder  factory's  smoke 

Looked  like  a  golden  mist  when  morning  broke. 

I  would  preach  the  surface  of  the  earth,  because  we  walk 
on  it.  When  a  youth,  I  was  told  that  it  was  impossible  for 
me  to  study  geology  to  any  purpose,  because  there  were  no 


146  L.   H.   BAILEY 

outcroppings  of  rocks  in  my  region.  So  I  grew  up  in  ignorance 
of  the  fact  that  every  little  part  of  the  earth's  surface  has  a 
history,  that  there  are  reasons  for  sandbanks  and  for  bogs 
as  well  as  for  stratified  rocks.  This  is  but  another  illustration 
of  the  old  book-slavery,  whereby  we  are  confined  to  certain 
formal  problems,  whether  or  not  these  problems  have  any 
relation  to  our  conditions. 

•  The  landscape  is  composed  chiefly  of  three  elements,  — 
the  surface  of  the  earth,  the  sky,  the  vegetation.  I  well 
remember  what  a  great  surprise  it  was  to  learn  that  the 
sculpturing  of  the  fields  can  be  understood,  and  that  the 
reasons  for  every  bank  and  knoll  and  mud-hole  can  be  worked 
out.  There  was  a  field  back  of  the  barn  that  contained 
hundreds  of  narrow  knolls,  averaging  three  to  four  feet  high. 
At  one  side  of  every  knoll  was  a  narrow  deep  pocket  that 
until  midsummer  was  filled  with  water.  The  field  was  so 
rough  that  it  could  not  be  plowed,  and  so  it  was  continuously 
used  as  a  pasture.  It  was  an  Elysian  field  for  a  boy.  Every 
pool  was  a  world  of  life,  with  strange  creatures  and  mysterious 
depths,  and  every  knoll  was  a  point  of  vantage.  Near  one 
edge  of  the  field  ran  a  rivulet,  and  beyond  the  rivulet  were 
great  woods.  What  was  beyond  the  woods,  I  could  only 
surmise.  I  recall  how  year  by  year  I  wondered  at  this  field, 
until  it  became  a  sort  of  perpetual  and  unexplainable  mystery, 
and  somehow  it  came  to  be  woven  as  a  natural  part  of  the 
fabric  of  my  life.  To  this  day  I  try  once  each  year  to  visit 
this  dear  old  field,  even  though  it  is  long  since  leveled.  All 
the  sweep  of  my  childhood  comes  back  to  me  unbidden. 
The  field  is  still  a  pasture,  but  generations  of  cows  have 
passed  on  since  then.  Yet,  as  much  as  this  field  meant  to 
me,  I  do  not  remember  to  have  had  any  distinct  feeling  that 
there  was  any  cause  for  the  pools  and  knolls.  My  father  cut 
the  field  from  the  forest,  yet  I  do  not  remember  that  I  ever 
asked  him  why  this  field  was  so;  and  I  never  heard  any 
person  express  any  curiosity  about  it.     We  all  seemed  to  have 


THE   REALM  OF  THE   COMMONPLACE        147 

accepted  it,  just  as  we  accept  the  air.  As  I  think  of  it  now, 
this  field  must  have  been  the  path  of  a  tornado  that  turned 
over  the  trees;  and  long  before  the  settlers  came,  the  prostrate 
trunks  had  decayed  and  a  second  forest  had  grown.  Would 
that  I  could  have  known  that  simple  explanation!  One 
sentence  would  have  given  me  the  clew.  How  the  mystery 
of  the  ancient  tornado  and  the  rise  of  another  forest  would 
have  conjured  a  new  world  of  marvel  and  discovery. 

When  I  had  written  this  sketch  of  my  pasture  field,  I  called 
in  a  little  school  girl  and  read  it  to  her.  I  wanted  to  hear  her 
estimate  of  it,  —  for  children  are  the  best  critics  and  also 
honest  ones. 

"That's  a  nice  story,"  she  said;  "but  I  don't  want  to 
study  such  things  in  school." 

"And  why  not?"  I  asked. 

"Because  they  are  hard  and  dry,"  she  said. 

Poor  child!  She  was  thinking  of  her  books;  and  to  think 
that  I  also  had  written  books! 

I  would  preach  the  sky.  When  in  the  open  country  we 
are  impressed  most  with  the  sense  of  room  and  with  the  sky. 
City  persons  have  no  sky,  but  only  fragments  of  a  leaky 
roof;  for  the  city  is  one  structure  and  needs  only  a  roof  to 
make  it  a  single  building.  They  have  no  free  horizon  line  — 
no  including  circle  laid  on  the  earth,  no  welkin.  There  are 
no  clouds,  —  only  an  undefined  something  that  portends  rain 
or  hides  the  sun.  One  must  have  free  vision  if  he  is  to  know 
the  sky.  He  must  see  the  clouds  sweep  across  the  firmament, 
changing  and  dissolving  as  they  go.  He  must  look  deep  into 
the  zenith,  beyond  the  highest  cirrus.  We  have  almost  lost 
the  habit  of  looking  up: 

Look  unto  the  heavens,  and  see; 

And  behold  the  skies,  which  are  higher  than  thou. 

Or,  if  we  note  the  sky,  it  is  chiefly  a  mid-day  or  sunset  recogni- 
tion.    Our  literature  is  rich  in  sunsets,  but  poorer  in  sunrises. 


148  L.   H.   BAILEY 

Civilization  has  led  us  away  from  the  morning,  and  at  the 
same  time  it  has  led  us  away  from  youthfulness.  We  have 
telescoped  the  day  far  into  the  night,  and  morning  is  becom- 
ing obsolete.  We  are  owls.  I  know  that  this  cannot  be 
helped;  but  it  can  be  mentioned.  I  have  asked  person  after 
person  whether  he  ever  saw  the  sun  rise.  The  large  number 
have  said  no;  and  most  of  those  who  had  seen  the  sun  rise 
had  seen  it  against  their  will  and  remembered  it  with  a  sense 
of  weariness.  Here,  again,  our  farm  boy  has  the  advantage: 
he  leads  something  like  a  natural  life.  I  doubt  whether  a 
man  can  be  a  poet  if  he  has  not  known  the  sunrise. 

The  sky  is  the  one  part  of  the  environment  that  is  beyond 
our  reach.  We  cannot  change  it;  we  cannot  spoil  it;  we 
cannot  paint  signs  on  it.  The  sky  is  forever  new  and  young; 
the  seasons  come  out  of  it;  the  winds  blow  out  of  it;  the 
weather  is  born  from  it: 

Hast  thou  entered  the  treasuries  of  the  snow, 
Or  hast  thou  seen  the  treasuries  of  the  hail? 

I  preach  the  mountains,  and  everything  that  is  taller  than  a 
man.  Yet  it  is  to  be  feared  that  many  persons  see  too  many 
mountains  and  too  many  great  landscapes,  and  that  the  "see- 
ing" of  nature  becomes  a  business  as  redundant  and  weari- 
some as  other  affairs.  One  who  lives  on  the  mountains  does 
not  know  how  high  they  are.  Let  us  have  one  inspiration  that 
lifts  us  clear  of  ourselves:  this  is  better  than  to  see  so  many 
mountains  that  we  remember  only  their  names.  The  best 
objects  that  you  can  see  are  those  in  your  own  realm;  but 
your  own  realm  becomes  larger  and  means  more  for  the  sight 
of  something  beyond. 

It  is  worth  while  to  cherish  the  few  objects  and  phenomena 
that  have  impressed  us  greatly,  and  it  is  well  to  recount  them 
often,  until  they  become  part  of  our  being.  One  such  phe- 
nomenon stands  out  boldly  in  my  own  experience.  It  was 
the  sight  of  sunrise  on  Mt.  Shasta,  seen  from  the  southeastern 


THE   REALM  OF  THE   COMMONPLACE        149 

side  from  a  p'oint  that  was  wholly  untouched  by  travelers. 
From  this  point  only  the  -main  dome  of  the  mountain  is  seen. 
I  had  left  the  Southern  Pacific  train  at  Sisson's  and  had  ridden 
on  a  fiat-car  over  a  lumber  railroad  some  eighteen  miles  to 
the  southeast.  From  this  destination,  I  drove  far  into  the 
great  forest,  over  old  lava  dust  that  floated  through  the 
woods  like  smoke  as  it  was  stirred  up  by  our  horses  and  wagon- 
wheels.  I  was  a  guest  for  the  night  in  one  of  those  luxurious 
lodges  which  true  nature-lovers,  wishing  wholly  to  escape  the 
affairs  of  cities,  build  in  remote  and  inaccessible  places.  The 
lodge  stood  on  a  low  promontory,  around  three  sides  of  which 
a  deep  swift  mountain  stream  ran  in  wild  tumult.  Giant 
shafts  of  trees,  such  shafts  as  one  sees  only  in  the  stupendous 
forests  of  the  far  West,  shot  straight  into  the  sky  from  the 
very  cornices  of  the  house.  It  is  always  a  marvel  to  the 
easterner  how  shafts  of  such  extraordinary  height  could  have 
been  nourished  by  the  very  thin  and  narrow  crowns  that 
they  bear.  One  always  wonders,  also,  at  the  great  distance 
the  sap-water  must  carry  its  freight  of  mineral  from  root  to 
leaf  and  its  heavier  freight  from  leaf  to  root. 

We  were  up  before  the  dawn.  We  made  a  pot  of  coffee, 
and  the  horses  were  ready,  —  fine  mounts,  accustomed  to 
woods  trails  and  hard  slopes.  It  was  hardly  light  enough  to 
enable  us  to  pick  our  way.  We  were  as  two  pigmies,  so 
titanic  was  the  forest.  The  trails  led  us  up  and  up,  under 
spruce  boughs  becoming  fragrant,  over  needle-strewn  floors 
still  heavy  with  darkness,  disclosing  glimpses  now  and  then 
of  gray  light  showing  eastward  between  the  boles.  Suddenly 
the  forest  stopped,  and  we  found  ourselves  on  the  crest  of  a 
great  ridge :  and  sheer  before  us  stood  the  great  cone  of 
Shasta,  cold  and  gray  and  silent,  floating  on  a  sea  of  darkness 
from  which  even  the  highest  tree  crowns  did  not  emerge. 
Scarcely  had  we  spoken  in  the  miles  of  our  ascent,  and  now 
words  would  be  sacrilege.  Almost  automatically  we  dis- 
mounted, letting  the  reins  fall  over  the  horses'  necks,  and 


ISO  L.   H.   BAILEY 

removed  our  hats.  The  horses  stood,  and  dropped  their 
heads.  Uncovered,  we  sat  ourselves  on  the  dry  leaves  and 
waited.  It  was  the  morning  of  creation.  Out  of  the  pure 
stuff  of  nebulae  the  cone  had  just  been  shaped  and  flung 
adrift  until  a  world  should  be  created  on  which  it  might  rest. 
The  gray  light  grew  into  the  mountain.  GraduaUy  a  ruddy 
light  appeared  in  the  east.  Then  a  flash  of  red  shot  out  of 
the  horizon,  struck  on  a  point  of  the  summit,  and  caught 
from  crag  to  crag  and  snow  to  snow  untfl  the  great  mass  was 
streaked  and  splashed  with  fire.  Slowly  the  darkness  settled 
away  from  its  base;  a  tree  emerged,  a  bird  chirped,  and  the 
morning  was  born! 

Now  a  great  nether  world  began  to  rise  up  out  of  Chaos. 
Far  hills  rose  first  through  rolling  biflows  of  mist.  Then 
came  wide  forests  of  spruce.  As  the  panorama  rose,  the 
mountain  changed  from  red  to  gold.  The  stars  had  faded 
out  and  left  the  great  mass  to  itself  on  the  bosom  of  the  rising 
world,  —  the  mountain  fully  created  now  and  established. 
Spriggy  bushes  and  little  leaves  —  little  green-brown  leaves 
and  tender  tufts  of  herbs  —  trembled  out  of  the  woods.  The 
illimitable  circle  of  the  world  stretched  away  and  away,  its 
edges  stUi  hung  in  the  stuff  from  which  it  had  just  been  fash- 
ioned. Then  the  forest  rang  with  calls  of  birds  and  a  hundred 
joyous  noises,  and  the  creation  was  complete. 

I  have  now  reviewed  some  of  the  characteristics  of  the 
sympathetic  attitude  toward  nature,  and  have  tried  to  show 
how  this  outlook  means  greater  efficiency,  hopefulness,  and 
repose.  In  the  subsequent  lectures  I  shall  enlarge  on  its 
bearings  on  certain  practical  and  very  essential  affairs.  I 
have  no  mind  to  be  iconoclast,  to  try  to  tear  down  what  has 
been  built,  or  to  advise  any  man  to  change  his  occupation  or 
profession.  That  would  be  impossible  to  accomplish,  even 
were  it  desirable  to  advise.  But  even  in  the  midst  of  aU  our 
eagerness  and  involvedness,  it  is  still  possible  to  open  the 
mind  toward  nature,  and  it  wfll  sweeten  and  strengthen  our 


THE    REALM    OF    THE    COMMONPLACE      151 

lives.  Nature  is  our  environment,  and  we  cannot  escape 
it  if  we  would.  The  problem  of  our  life  is  not  yonder;  it  is 
here.  The  seeking  of  truth  in  fresh  fields  and  for  the  love  of 
it  is  akin  to  the  enthusiasm  of  youth.  Men  keep  young  by 
knowing  nature.  They  also  should  keep  true.  One  of  the 
New  Sayings  of  Jesus  is  this:  "Raise  the  stone,  and  there 
thou  shalt  find  me;   cleave  the  wood,  and  there  am  I." 


A  HERMIT'S   NOTES   ON  THOREAU  ^ 

Paul  Elmer  More 

Near  the  secluded  village  of  Shelburne  that  lies  along  the 
peaceful  valley  of  the  Androscoggin,  I  took  upon  myself  to 
live  two  years  as  a  hermit  after  a  mild  Epicurean  fashion  of 
my  own.  Three  maiden  aunts  wagged  their  heads  ominously; 
my  nearest  friend  inquired  cautiously  whether  there  was  any 
taint  of  insanity  in  the  family;  an  old  gray-haired  lady,  a 
veritable  saint  who  had  not  been  soured  by  her  many  deeds  of 
charity,  admonished  me  on  the  utter  selfishness  and  godless- 
ness  of  such  a  proceeding.  But  I  clung  heroically  to  my 
resolution.  Summer  tourists  in  that  pleasant  valley  may 
still  see  the  little  red  house  among  the  pines,  —  empty  now, 
I  believe;  and  I  dare  say  gaudy  coaches  still  draw  up  at  the 
door,  as  they  used  to  do,  when  the  gaudier  bonnets  and  hats 
exchanged  wondering  remarks  on  the  cabalistic  inscription 
over  the  lintel,  or  spoke  condescendingly  to  the  great  dog  lying 
on  the  steps.  As  for  the  hermit  within,  having  found  it 
impossible  to  educe  any  meaning  from  the  tangled  habits  of 
mankind  while  he  himself  was  whirled  about  in  the  imbroglio, 
he  had  determined  to  try  the  efficacy  of  undisturbed  medita- 
tion at  a  distance.  So  deficient  had  been  his  education  that 
he  was  actually  better  acquainted  with  the  aspirations  and 
emotions  of  the  old  dwellers  on  the  Ganges  than  with  those 
of  the  modern  toilers  by  the  Hudson  or  the  Potomac.  He 
had  been  deafened  by  the  "indistinguishable  roar"  of  the 
streets,  and  could  make  no  sense  of  the  noisy  jargon  of  the 

^  Copyright.  Reprinted  from  Shelburne  Essays  by  permission  of 
G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons  and  of  the  author. 


A  HERMIT'S   NOTES  ON  THOREAU  153 

market  place.  But  —  shall  it  be  confessed?  —  although  he 
discovered  many  things  during  his  contemplative  sojourn  in 
the  wilderness,  and  learned  that  the  attempt  to  criticise  and 
not  to  create  literature  was  to  be  his  labor  in  this  world, 
nevertheless  he  returned  to  civilization  as  ignorant,  alas,  of 
its  meaning  as  when  he  left  it. 

However,  it  is  not  my  intention  to  justify  the  saintly  old 
lady's  charge  of  egotism  by  telling  the  story  of  my  exodus  to 
the  desert;  that,  perhaps,  may  come  later  and  at  a  more 
suitable  time.  I  wish  now  only  to  record  the  memories  of 
one  perfect  day  in  June,  when  woods  and  mountains  were  as 
yet  a  new  delight. 

The  fresh  odors  of  morning  were  still  swaying  in  the  air 
when  I  set  out  on  this  particular  day;  and  my  steps  turned 
instinctively  to  the  great  pine  forest,  called  the  Cathedral 
Woods,  that  filled  the  valley  and  cHmbed  the  hill  slopes  behind 
my  house.  There,  many  long  roads  that  are  laid  down  in 
no  map  wind  hither  and  thither  among  the  trees,  whose  leaf- 
less trunks  tower  into  the  sky  and  then  meet  in  evergreen 
arches  overhead.     There, 

The  tumult  of  the  times  disconsolate 

never  enters,  and  no  noise  of  the  world  is  heard  save  now  and 
then,  in  winter,  the  ringing  strokes  of  the  woodchopper  at 
his  cruel  task.  How  many  times  I  have  walked  those  quiet 
cathedral  aisles,  while  my  great  dog  paced  faithfully  on 
before!  Underfoot  the  dry,  purple-hued  moss  was  stretched 
like  a  royal  carpet;  and  at  intervals  a  glimpse  of  the  deep 
sky,  caught  through  an  aperture  in  the  groined  roof,  reminded 
me  of  the  other  world,  and  carried  my  thoughts  still  farther 
from  the  desolating  memories  of  this  life.  Nothing  but  pure 
odors  were  there,  sweeter  than  cloistral  incense;  and  murmur- 
ous voices  of  the  pines,  more  harmonious  than  the  chanting 
of  trained  choristers;  and  in  the  heart  of  the  wanderer  nothing 
but  tranquillity  and  passionless  peace. 


154  PAUL  ELMER  MORE 

Often  now  the  recollection  of  those  scenes  comes  floating 
back  upon  his  senses  when,  in  the  wakeful  seasons  of  a  summer 
night,  he  hears  the  wind  at  work  among  the  trees;  even  in 
barren  city  streets  some  sound  or  spectacle  can  act  upon  him 
as  a  spell,  banishing  for  a  moment  the  hideous  contention  of 
commerce,  and  placing  him  beneath  the  restful  shadows  of 
the  pines.  May  his  understanding  cease  its  function,  and  his 
heart  forget  to  feel,  when  the  memory  of  those  days  has 
utterly  left  him  and  he  walks  in  the  world  without  this  con- 
solation of  remembered  peace. 

Nor  can  I  recollect  that  my  mind,  in  these  walks,  was  much 
called  away  from  contemplation  by  the  petty  curiosities  of 
the  herbalist  or  bird-lorist,  for  I  am  not  one  zealously  addicted 
to  scrutinizing  into  the  minuter  secrets  of  Nature.  It  never 
seemed  to  me  that  a  flower  was  made  sweeter  by  knowing 
the  construction  of  its  ovaries,  or  assumed  a  new  importance 
when  I  learned  its  trivial  or  scientific  name.  The  wood 
thrush  and  the  veery  sing  as  melodiously  to  the  uninformed  as 
to  the  subtly  Curious.  Indeed,  I  sometimes  think  a  little 
ignorance  is  wholesome  in  our  communion  with  Nature,  until 
we  are  ready  to  part  with  her  altogether.  She  is  feminine  in 
this  as  in  other  respects,  and  loves  to  shroud  herself  in  illu- 
sions, as  the  Hindus  taught  in  their  books.  For  they  called 
her  Maya,  the  very  person  and  power  of  deception,  whose 
sway  over  the  beholder  must  end  as  soon  as  her  mystery  is 
penetrated. 

Dear  as  the  sound  of  the  wood  thrush's  note  still  is  to  my 
ears,  something  of  charm  and  allurement  has  gone  from  it 
since  I  have  become  intimate  with  the  name  and  habits  of  the 
bird.  As  a  child  born  and  reared  in  the  city,  that  wild,  ring- 
ing call  was  perfectly  new  and  strange  to  me  when,  one  early 
dawn,  I  first  heard  it  during  a  visit  to  the  Delaware  Water 
Gap.  To  me,  whose  ears  had  grown  familiar  only  with  the 
rumble  of  paved  streets,  the  sound  was  like  a  reiterated  un- 
earthly summons  inviting  me  from  my  narrow  prison  existence 


A  HERMIT'S   NOTES  ON  THOREAU  155 

out  into  a  wide  and  unexplored  world  of  impulse  and  adventure. 
Long  afterwards  I  learned  the  name  of  the  songster  whose 
note  had  made  so  strong  an  impression  upon  my  childish 
senses,  but  still  I  associate  the  song  with  the  grandiose  scenery, 
with  the  sheer  forests  and  streams  and  the  rapid  river  of  the 
Water  Gap.  I  was  indeed  almost  a  man  —  though  the 
confession  may  sound  incredible  in  these  days  —  before  I 
again  heard  the  wood  thrush's  note,  and  my  second  adventure 
impressed  me  almost  as  profoundly  as  the  first.  In  the 
outer  suburbs  of  the  city  where  my  home  had  always  been, 
I  was  walking  one  day  with  a  brother,  when  suddenly  out  of 
a  grove  of  laurel  oaks  sounded,  clear  and  triumphant,  the 
note  which  I  remembered  so  well,  but  which  had  come  to  have 
to  my  imagination  the  unreality  and  mystery  of  a  dream  of 
long  ago.  Instantly  my  heart  leapt  within  me.  "It  is  the 
fateful  summons  once  more!"  I  cried;  and,  with  my  com- 
panion who  was  equally  ignorant  of  bird-lore,  I  ran  into  the 
grove  to  discover  the  wild  trumpeter.  That  was  a  strange 
chase  in  the  fading  twilight,  while  the  unknown  songster  led 
us  on  from  tree  to  tree,  ever  deeper  into  the  woods.  Many 
times  we  saw  him  on  one  of  the  lower  boughs,  but  could  not 
for  a  long  while  bring  ourselves  to  believe  that  so  wondrous 
a  melody  should  proceed  from  so  plain  a  minstrel.  And  at 
last,  when  we  had  satisfied  ourselves  of  his  identity,  and  the 
night  had  fallen,  we  came  out  into  the  road  with  a  strange 
solemnity  hanging  over  us.  Our  ears  had  been  opened  to 
the  unceasing  harmonies  of  creation,  and  our  eyes  had  been 
made  aware  of  the  endless  drama  of  natural  life.  We  had 
been  initiated  into  the  lesser  mysteries;  and  if  the  sacred 
pageantry  was  not  then,  and  never  was  to  be,  perfectly  clear 
to  our  understanding,  the  imagination  was  nevertheless  awed 
and  purified. 

If  the  knowledge  and  experience  of  years  have  made  me  a 
little  more  callous  to  these  deeper  influences,  at  least  I  have 
not  deliberately  closed  the  door  to  them  by  incautious  prying. 


156  PAUL  ELMER  MORE 

Perhaps  a  long  course  of  wayward  reading  has  taught  me  to 
look  upon  the  world  with  eyes  quite  different  from  those  of 
the  modern  exquisite  searchers  into  Nature.  I  remember 
the  story  of  Prometheus,  and  think  his  punishment  is  typical 
of  the  penalty  that  falls  upon  those  who  grasp  at  powers  and 
knowledge  not  intended  for  mankind,  —  some  nemesis  of  a 
more  material  loneliness  and  a  more  barren  pride  torturing 
them  because  they  have  turned  from  human  knowledge  to  an 
alien  and  forbidden  sphere.  Like  Prometheus,  they  shall  in 
the  end  cry  out  in  vain: 

O  air  divine,  and  O  swift-winged  winds! 

Ye  river  fountains,  and  thou  myriad-twinkling 

Laughter  of  ocean  waves !     O  mother  earth ! 

And  thou,  O  all-discerning  orb  o'  the  sun!  — 

To  you,  I  cry  to  you;  behold  what  I, 

A  god,  endure  of  evil  from  the  gods. 

Nor  is  the  tale  of  Prometheus  alone  in  teaching  this  lesson 
of  prudence,  nor  was  Greece  the  only  land  of  antiquity  where 
reverence  was  deemed  more  salutary  than  curiosity.  The 
myth  of  the  veiled  Isis  passed  in  those  days  from  people  to 
people,  and  was  everywhere  received  as  a  symbol  of  the  veil 
of  illusion  about  Nature,  which  no  man  might  lift  with 
impunity.  And  the  same  idea  was,  if  anything,  intensified 
in  the  Middle  Ages.  The  common  people,  and  the  Church 
as  well,  looked  with  horror  on  such  scholars  as  Pope  Gerbert, 
who  was  thought,  for  his  knowledge  of  Nature,  to  have  sold 
himself  to  the  devil;  and  on  such  discoverers  as  Roger  Bacon, 
whose  wicked  searching  into  forbidden  things  cost  him  four- 
teen years  in  prison.  And  even  in  modern  times  did  not  the 
poet  Blake  say:  "I  fear  Wordsworth  loves  nature,  and  nature 
is  the  work  of  the  Devil.  The  Devil  is  in  us  as  far  as  we  are 
nature"?  It  has  remained  for  an  age  of  scepticism  to  sub- 
stitute investigation  for  awe.  After  all,  can  any  course  of 
study  or  open-air  pedagogics  bring  us  into  real  communion 
with  the  world  about  us?     I  fear  much  of  the  talk  about 


A  HERMIT'S  NOTES   ON  THOREAU  157 

companionship  with  Nature  that  pervades  our  summer  Hfe 
is  little  better  than  cant  and  self-deception,  and  he  best 
understands  the  veiled  goddess  who  most  frankly  admits 
her  impenetrable  secrecy.  The  peace  that  comes  to  us  from 
contemplating  the  vast  panorama  spread  out  before  us  is 
due  rather  to  the  sense  of  a  great  passionless  power  entirely 
out  of  our  domain  than  to  any  real  intimacy  with  the  hidden 
deity.  It  was  John  Woolman,  the  famous  New  Jersey  Quaker, 
who  wrote,  during  a  journey  through  the  wilderness  of  Penn- 
sylvania: "In  my  traveling  on  the  road,  I  often  felt  a  cry 
rise  from  the  center  of  my  mind,  thus,  '  O  Lord,  I  am  a  stranger 
on  the  earth,  hide  not  thy  face  from  me.'" 

But  I  forget  that  I  am  myself  traveling  on  the  road;  and 
all  this  long  disquisition  is  only  a  chapter  of  reminiscences, 
due  to  the  multitudinous  singing  of  the  thrushes  on  this  side 
and  that,  as  we  —  I  and  my  great  dog  —  trod  the  high  cathe- 
dral aisles.  After  a  while  the  sound  of  running  water  came 
to  us  above  the  deeper  diapason  of  the  pines,  and,  turning 
aside,  we  clambered  down  to  a  brook  which  we  had  already 
learned  to  make  the  terminus  of  our  walks.  Along  this 
stream  we  had  discovered  a  dozen  secret  nooks  where  man 
and  dog  might  lie  or  sit  at  ease,  and  to-day  I  stretched  myself 
on  a  cool,  hollow  rock,  with  my  eyes  looking  up  the  long, 
leafy  chasm  of  the  brook.  Just  above  my  couch  the  current 
was  dammed  by  a  row  of  mossy  boulders,  over  which  the  waters 
poured  with  a  continual  murmur  and  plash.  My  head  was 
only  a  little  higher  than  the  pool  beyond  the  boulders,  and, 
lying  motionless,  I  watched  the  flies  weaving  a  pattern  over 
the  surface  of  the  quiet  water,  and  now  and  then  was  re- 
warded by  seeing  a  greedy  trout  leap  into  the  sunlight  to 
capture  one  of  the  winged  weavers.  Surely,  if  there  is  any 
such  thing  as  real  intimacy  with  Nature,  it  is  in  just  such 
secluded  spots  as  this;  for  the  grander  scenes  require  of  us  a 
moral  enthusiasm  which  can  come  to  the  soul  only  at  rare 
intervals  and  for  brief  moments.      From  these  chosen  moun- 


158  PAUL  ELMER   MORE 

tain  retreats,  one  might  send  to  a  scientist,  busy  with  his 
books  and  his  instruments  and  curious  to  pry  into  the  secret 
powers  of  Nature,  some  such  appeal  as  this :  — 

Brother,  awhile  your  impious  engines  leave; 

Nor  always  seek  with  flame-compelling  wires 
Out  of  the  palsied  hand  of  Zeus  to  reave 

His  dear  celestial  fires. 

What  though  he  drowse  upon  a  tottering  bench, 

Forgetful  how  his  random  bolts  are  hurled! 
Are  you  to  blame?  or  is  it  yours  to  quench 

The  thunders  of  the  world? 

Come  learn  with  me  through  folly  to  be  wise: 

Think  you  by  cunning  laws  of  optic  lore 
To  lend  the  enamelled  fields  or  burning  skies 

One  splendour  lacked  before? 

A  wizard  footrule  to  the  waves  of  sound 

You  lay,  —  hath  measure  in  the  song  of  bird 

Or  ever  in  the  voice  of  waters  found 
One  melody  erst  unheard? 

Ah,  for  a  season  close  your  magic  books, 

Your  rods  and  crystals  in  the  closet  hide; 
I  know  in  covert  ways  a  hundred  nooks. 

High  on  the  mountain  side, 

Where  through  the  golden  hours  that  follow  noon. 

Under  the  greenwood  shadows  you  and  I 
May  talk  of  happy  Uves,  until  too  soon 

Night's  shadows  fold  the  sky. 

And  while  Hke  incense  blown  among  the  leaves 
Our  fragrant  smoke  ascends  from  carven  bowl, 

We'll  con  the  lesser  wisdom  that  deceives 
The  Questioner  in  the  soul, 

And  laugh  to  hoodwink  where  we  cannot  rout:  — 

Did  Bruno  of  the  stubborn  heart  outbrave. 
Or  could  the  mind  of  Gahleo  flout 

The  folly  of  the  Grave? 


A  HERMIT'S  NOTES  ON  THOREAU  159 

So  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  lesser  wisdom  of  quiet  content 
before  the  face  of  Nature's  mysteries  might  be  studied  in  the 
untrained  garden  of  my  hermitage.  But  I  have  been  dream- 
ing and  moralizing  on  the  little  life  about  me  and  the  greater 
life  of  the  world  too  long.  So  lying  near  the  level  of  the  still 
pool  I  began  to  read.  The  volume  chosen  was  the  most 
appropriate  to  the  time  and  place  that  could  be  imagined,  — 
Thoreau's  Walden;  and  having  entered  upon  an  experiment 
not  altogether  unlike  his,  I  now  set  myself  to  reading  the 
record  of  his  two  years  of  solitude.  I  learned  many  things 
from  that  morning's  perusal.  Several  times  I  had  read  the 
Odyssey  within  sight  of  the  sea;  and  the  murmur  of  the 
waves  on  the  beach,  beating  through  the  rhythm  of  the  poem, 
had  taught  me  how  vital  a  thing  a  book  might  be,  and  how 
it  could  acquire  a  peculiar  validity  from  harmonious  sur- 
roundings; but  now  the  reading  of  Thoreau  in  that  charmed 
and  lonely  spot  emphasized  this  commonplace  truth  in  a 
special  manner.  Walden  studied  in  the  closet,  and  Walden 
mused  over  under  the  trees,  by  running  water,  are  two  quite 
different  books.  And  then,  from  Thoreau,  the  greatest  by 
far  of  our  writers  on  Nature,  and  the  creator  of  a  new  senti- 
ment in  literature,  my  mind  turned  to  the  long  list  of  Ameri- 
cans who  have  left,  or  are  still  composing,  a  worthy  record  of 
their  love  and  appreciation  of  the  natural  world.  Our  land 
of  multiform  activities  has  produced  so  little  that  is  really 
creative  in  literature  or  art!  Hawthorne  and  Poe,  and 
possibly  one  or  two  others,  were  masters  in  their  own  field; 
yet  even  they  chose  not  quite  the  highest  realm  for  their 
genius  to  work  in.  But  in  one  subject  our  writers  have  led 
the  way  and  are  still  preeminent:  Thoreau  was  the  creator 
of  a  new  manner  of  writing  about  Nature.  In  its  deeper 
essence  his  work  is  inimitable,  as  it  is  the  voice  of  a  unique 
personality;  but  in  its  superficial  aspects  it  has  been  taken 
up  by  a  host  of  living  writers,  who  have  caught  something 
of  his  method,  even  if  they  lack  his  genius  and  singleness  of 


i6o  PAUL  ELMER  MORE 

heart.  From  these  it  was  an  easy  transition  to  compare 
Thoreau's  attitude  of  mind  with  that  of  Wordsworth  and  the 
other  great  poets  of  his  century  who  went  to  Nature  for 
their  inspiration,  and  made  Nature-writing  the  characteristic 
note  of  modern  verse.  What  is  it  in  Thoreau  that  is  not  to 
be  found  in  Byron  and  Shelley  and  Wordsworth,  not  to 
mention  old  Izaak  Walton,  Gilbert  White  of  Selborne,  and  a 
host  of  others?  It  was  a  rare  treat,  as  I  lay  in  that  leafy 
covert,  to  go  over  in  memory  the  famous  descriptive  passages 
from  these  authors,  and  to  contrast  their  spirit  with  that  of 
the  book  in  my  hand. 

As  I  considered  these  matters,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
Thoreau's  work  was  distinguished  from  that  of  his  American 
predecessors  and  imitators  by  just  these  qualities  of  awe  and 
wonder  which  we,  in  our  communings  with  Nature,  so  often 
cast  away.  Mer§  description,  though  it  may  at  times  have 
a  scientific  value,  is  after  all  a  very  cheap  form  of  literature; 
and,  as  I  have  already  intimated,  too  much  curiosity  of  detail 
is  likely  to  exert .  a  deadening  influence  on  the  philosophic 
and  poetic  contemplation  of  Nature.  Such  an  influence  is, 
as  I  believe,  specially  noticeable  at  the  present  time,  and 
even  Thoreau  was  not  entirely  free  from  its  baneful  effect. 
Much  of  his  writing,  perhaps  the  greater  part,  is  the  mere 
record  of  observation  and  classification,  and  has  not  the 
slightest  claim  on  our  remembrance,  —  unless,  indeed,  it 
possesses  some  scientific  value,  which  I  doubt.  Certainly 
the  parts  of  his  work  having  permanent  interest  are  just 
those  chapters  where  he  is  less  the  minute  observer,  and 
more  the  contemplative  philosopher.  Despite  the  width 
and  exactness  of  his  information,  he  was  far  from  having  the 
truly  scientific  spirit;  the  acquisition  of  knowledge,  with  him, 
was  in  the  end  quite  subordinate  to  his  interest  in  the  moral 
significance  of  Nature,  and  the  words  he  read  in  her  obscure 
scroll  were  a  language  of  strange  mysteries,  oftentimes  of 
awe.     It  is  a  constant  reproach  to  the  prying,  self-satisfied 


A  HERMIT'S  NOTES  ON  THOREAU     i6i 

habits  of  small  minds  to  see  the  reverence  of  this  great-hearted 
observer  before  the  supreme  goddess  he  so  loved  and 
studied. 

jVIuch  of  this  contemplative  spirit  of  Thoreau  is  due  to  the 
soul  of  the  man  himself,  to  that  personal  force  which  no 
analysis  of  character  can  explain.  But,  besides  this,  it  has 
always  seemed  to  me  that,  more  than  in  any  other  descriptive 
writer  of  the  land,  his  mind  is  the  natural  outgrowth,  and 
his  essays  the  natural  expression,  of  a  feeling  deep-rooted  in 
the  historical  beginnings  of  New  England;  and  this  founda- 
tion in  the  past  gives  a  strength  and  convincing  force  to  his 
words  that  lesser  writers  utterly  lack.  Consider  the  new  life 
of  the  Puritan  colonists  in  the  strange  surroundings  of  their 
desert  home.  Consider  the  case  of  the  adventurous  Pilgrims 
sailing  from  the  comfortable  city  of  Leyden  to  the  unknown 
wilderness  over  the  sea.  As  Governor  Bradford  wrote, 
"the  place  they  had  thoughts  on  was  some  of  those  vast 
&  unpeopled  countries  of  America,  which  are  frutfuU  &  fitt 
for  habitation,  being  devoyd  of  all  civill  inhabitants,  wher 
ther  are  only  salvage  and  brutish  men,  which  range  up  and 
downe,  little  otherwise  than  ye  wild  beasts  of  the  same." 
In  these  vast  and  unpeopled  countries,  where  beast  and  bird 
were  strange  to  the  eye,  and  where  "salvage"  men  abounded, 
—  men  who  did  not  always  make  the  land  so  "fitt"  for  new 
inhabitants  as  Bradford  might  have  desired,  —  it  was  inevi- 
table that  the  mind  should  be  turned  to  explore  and  report 
on  natural  phenomena  and  on  savage  life.  It  is  a  fact  that 
some  of  the  descriptions  of  sea  and  land  made  by  wanderers 
to  Virginia  and  Massachusetts  have  a  directness  and  graphic 
power,  touched  occasionally  with  an  element  of  wildness,  that 
render  them  even  to-day  agreeable  reading. 

This  was  before  the  time  of  Rousseau,  and  before  Gray 
had  discovered  the  beauty  of  wild  mountain  scenery;  inevi- 
tably the  early  American  writers  were  chiefly  interested  in 
Nature  as  the  home  of  future  colonists,  and  their  books  are 


1 62  PAUL  ELMER   MORE 

for  the  most  part  semi-scientific  accounts  of  what  they  studied 
from  a  utilitarian  point  of  view.  But  the  dryness  of  detailed 
description  in  the  New  World  was  from  the  first  modified 
and  lighted  up  by  the  wondering  awe  of  men  set  down  in  the 
midst  of  the  strange  and  often  threatening  forces  of  an  untried 
wilderness;  and  this  sense  of  awful  aloofness,  which  to  a 
certain  extent  lay  dormant  in  the  earlier  writers,  did  never- 
theless sink  deep  into  the  heart  of  New  England,  and  when, 
in  the  lapse  of  time,  the  country  entered  into  its  intellectual 
renaissance,  and  the  genius  came  who  was  destined  to  give 
full  expression  to  the  thoughts  of  his  people  before  the  face 
of  Nature,  it  was  inevitable  that  his  works  should  be  domi- 
nated by  just  this  sense  of  poetic  mystery. 

It  is  this  New  World  inheritance,  moreover,  —  joined,  of 
course,  with  his  own  inexplicable  personality,  which  must  not 
be  left  out  of  account,  —  that  makes  Thoreau's  attitude  toward 
Nature  something  quite  distinct  from  that  of  the  great  poets 
who  just  preceded  him.  There  was  in  him  none  of  the  fiery 
spirit  of  the  revolution  which  caused  Byron  to  mingle  hatred 
of  men  with  enthusiasm  for  the  Alpine  solitudes.  There 
was  none  of  the  passion  for  beauty  and  the  voluptuous  self- 
abandonment  of  Keats;  these  were  not  in  the  atmosphere  he 
breathed  at  Concord.  He  was  not  touched  with  Shelley's 
unearthly  mysticism,  nor  had  he  ever  fed 

on  the  aerial  kisses 
Of  shapes  that  haunt  thought's  wildernesses; 

his  moral  sinews  were  too  stark  and  strong  for  that  form  of 
mental  dissipation.  Least  of  all  did  he,  after  the  manner  of 
Wordsworth,  hear  in  the  voice  of  Nature  any  compassionate 
plea  for  the  weakness  and  sorrow  of  the  downtrodden.  Phi- 
lanthropy and  humanitarian  sympathies  were  to  him  a  desola- 
tion and  a  woe.  "Philanthropy  is  almost  the  only  virtue 
which  is  sufficiently  appreciated  by  mankind.  Nay,  it  is 
greatly  overrated;    and  it  is  our  selfishness  which  overrates 


A  HERMIT'S  NOTES  ON  THOREAU     163 

it,"  he  writes.  And  again:  "The  philanthropist  too  often 
surrounds  mankind  with  the  remembrance  of  his  own  cast-ofif 
griefs  as  an  atmosphere,  and  calls  it  sympathy,"  Similarly 
his  reliance  on  the  human  will  was  too  sturdy  to  be  much 
perturbed  by  the  inequalities  and  sufferings  of  mankind,  and 
his  faith  in  the  individual  was  too  unshaken  to  be  led  into 
humanitarian  interest  in  the  masses.  "Alas!  this  is  the  cry- 
ing sin  of  the  age,"  he  declares,  "this  want  of  faith  in  the 
prevalence  of  a  man." 

But  the  deepest  and  most  essential  difference  is  the  lack 
of  pantheistic  reverie  in  Thoreau.  It  is  this  brooding  over 
the  universal  spirit  embodied  in  the  material  world  which 
almost  always  marks  the  return  of  sympathy  with  Nature, 
and  which  is  particularly  noticeable  in  the  writers  of  the 
past  century.  So  Lord  Byron,  wracked  and  broken  by  his 
social  catastrophes,  turns  for  relief  to  the  fair  scenes  of  Lake 
Leman,  and  finds  in  the  high  mountains  and  placid  waters  a 
consoling  spirit  akin  to  his  own. 

Are  not  the  mountains,  waves,  and  skies,  a  part 
Of  me  and  of  my  soul,  as  I  of  them? 

he  asks;  and  in  the  bitterness  of  his  human  disappointment 
he  would  "be  alone,  and  love  Earth  only  for  its  earthly  sake." 
Shelley,  too,  "mixed  awful  talk"  with  the  "great  parent," 
and  heard  in  her  voice  an  answer  to  all  his  vague  dreams  of 
the  soul  of  universal  love.  No  one,  so  far  as  I  know,  has  yet 
studied  the  relation  between  Wordsworth's  pantheism  and 
his  humanitarian  sympathies,  but  we  need  only  glance  at  his 
lines  on  Tintern  Abbey  to  see  how  closely  the  two  feelings 
were  interknit  in  his  mind.     It  was  because  he  felt  this 

sense  subHme 
Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 
Whose  dwelhng  is  the  Hght  of  setting  suns, 
And  the  round  ocean,  and  the  Hving  air. 
And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man; 


1 64  PAUL  ELMER  MORE 

it  was  because  the  distinctions  of  the  human  will  and  the 
consequent  perception  of  individual  responsibility  were 
largely  absorbed  in  this  dream  of  the  universal  spirit,  that 
he  heard  in  Nature  "the  still,  sad  music  of  humanity,"  and 
reproduced  it  so  sympathetically  in  his  own  song.  Of  all 
this  pantheism.,  whether  attended  with  revolt  from  responsi- 
bility or  languid  reverie  or  humanitarian  dreams,  there  is 
hardly  a  trace  in  Thoreau.  The  memory  of  man's  struggle 
with  the  primeval  woods  and  fields  was  not  so  lost  in  antiquity 
that  the  world  had  grown  into  an  indistinguishable  part  of 
human  life.  If  Nature  smiled  upon  Thoreau  at  times,  she 
was  still  an  alien  creature  who  succumbed  only  to  his  force 
and  tenderness,  as  she  had  before  given  her  bounty,  though 
reluctantly,  to  the  Pilgrim  Fathers.  A  certain  companion- 
ship he  had  with  the  plants  and  wild  beasts  of  the  field,  a 
certain  intimacy  with  the  dumb  earth;  but  he  did  not  seek 
to  merge  his  personality  in  their  impersonal  life,  or  look  to 
them  for  a  response  to  his  own  inner  moods;  he  associated 
with  them  as  the  soul  associates  with  the  body. 

More  characteristic  is  his  sense  of  awe,  even  of  dread, 
toward  the  great  unsubdued  forces  of  the  world.  The  loneli- 
ness of  the  mountains  such  as  they  appeared  to  the  early 
adventurers  in  a  strange,  unexplored  country;  the  repellent 
loneliness  of  the  barren  heights  frowning  down  inhospitably 
upon  the  pioneer  who  scratched  the  soil  at  their  base;  the 
loneliness  and  terror  of  the  dark,  untrodden  forests,  where 
the  wanderer  might  stray  away  and  be  lost  forever,  where 
savage  men  were  more  feared  than  the  wild  animals,  and 
where  superstition  saw  the  haunt  of  the  Black  Man  and  of 
all  uncleanness,  —  all  this  tradition  of  sombre  solitude  made 
Nature  to  Thoreau  something  very  different  from  the  hills 
and  valleys  of  Old  England.  "We  have  not  seen  pure  Na- 
ture," he  says,  "unless  we  have  seen  her  thus  vast  and  drear 
and  inhuman.  .  .  .  Man  was  not  to  be  associated  with  it. 
It  was  matter,  vast,  terrific,  —  not  his  Mother  Earth  that 


A  HERMIT'S  NOTES  ON  THOREAU     165 

we  have  heard  of,  not  for  him  to  tread  on,  or  be  buried  in,  — 
no,  it  were  being  too  familiar  even  to  let  his  bones  lie  there, 
—  the  home,  this,  of  Necessity  and  Fate."  After  reading 
Byron's  invocation  to  the  Alps  as  the  palaces  of  Nature;  or 
the  ethereal  mountain  scenes  in  Shelley's  Alastor,  where  all 
the  sternness  of  the  everlasting  hills  is  dissolved  into  rainbow 
hues  of  shifting  light  as  dainty  as  the  poet's  own  soul;  or 
Wordsworth's  familiar  musings  in  the  vale  of  Grasmere,  — 
if,  after  these,  we  turn  to  Thoreau's  account  of  the  ascent  of 
Mount  Katahdin,  we  seem  at  once  to  be  in  the  home  of  another 
tradition.  I  am  tempted  to  quote  a  few  sentences  of  that 
account  to  emphasize  the  point.  On  the  mountain  heights, 
he  says  of  the  beholder: 

He  is  more  lone  than  you  can  imagine.  There  is  less  of  substantial 
thought  and  fair  understanding  in  him  than  in  the  plains  where  men  in- 
habit. His  reason  is  dispersed  and  shadowy,  more  thin  and  subtile,  Uke 
the  air.  Vast,  Titanic,  inhuman  Nature  has  got  him  at  disadvantage, 
caugfit  him  alone,  and  pilfers  him  of  some  of  his  divine  faculty.  She  does 
not  smile  on  him  as  in  the  plains.  She  seems  to  say  sternly.  Why  came  ye 
here  before  your  time?  This  ground  is  not  prepared  for  you.  Is  it  not 
enough  that  I  smile  in  the  valleys?  I  have  never  made  this  soil  for  thy 
feet,  this  air  for  thy  breathing,  these  rocks  for  thy  neighbors.  I  cannot 
pity  nor  fondle  thee  here,  but  forever  relentlessly  drive  thee  hence  to  where 
I  am  kind. 

I  do  not  mean  to  present  the  work  of  Thoreau  as  equal  in 
value  to  the  achievement  of  the  great  poets  with  whom  I 
have  compared  him,  but  wish  merely  in  this  way  to  bring  out 
more  definitely  his  characteristic  traits.  Yet  if  his  creative 
genius  is  less  than  theirs,  I  cannot  but  think  his  attitude 
toward  Nature  is  in  many  respects  truer  and  more  wholesome. 
Pantheism,  whether  on  the  banks  of  the  Ganges  or  of  the 
Thames,  seems  to  bring  with  it  a  spreading  taint  of  effeminacy  ; 
and  from  this  the  mental  attitude  of  our  Concord  naturalist 
was  eminently  free.  There  is  something  tonic  and  bracing 
in  his  intercourse  with  the  rude  forces  of  the  forest;  he  went 
to  Walden  Pond  because  he  had  "private  business  to  transact," 


1 66  PAUL    ELMER    MORE 

not  for  relaxation  and  mystical  reverie.  "To  be  a  philoso- 
pher," he  said,  "is  not  merely  to  have  subtle  thoughts,  nor 
even  to  found  a  school,  but  so  to  love  wisdom  as  to  live  accord- 
ing to  its  dictates,  a  life  of  simplicity,  independence,  magna- 
nimity, and  trust;  "and  by  recurring  to  the  solitudes  of  Nature 
he  thought  he  could  best  develop  in  himself  just  these  manly 
virtues.  Nature  was  to  him  a  discipline  of  the  will  as  much 
as  a  stimulant  to  the  imagination.  He  would,  if  it  were 
possible,  "combine  the  hardiness  of  the  savages  with  the 
intellectualness  of  the  civilized  man;"  and  in  this  method  of 
working  out  the  philosophical  life  we  see  again  the  influence 
of  long  and  deep-rooted  tradition.  To  the  first  settlers,  the 
red  man  was  as  much  an  object  of  curiosity  and  demanded  as 
much  study  as  the  earth  they  came  to  cultivate;  their  books 
are  full  of  graphic  pictures  of  savage  life,  and  it  should  seem 
as  if  now  in  Thoreau  this  inherited  interest  had  received  at 
last  its  ripest  expression.  When  he  travelled  in  the  wilder- 
ness of  Maine,  he  was  as  much  absorbed  in  learning  the 
habits  of  his  Indian  guides  as  in  exploring  the  woods.  He 
had  some  innate  sympathy  or  perception  which  taught  him 
to  find  relics  of  old  Indian  life  where  others  would  pass  them 
by,  and  there  is  a  well-known  story  of  his  answer  to  one  who 
asked  him  where  such  relics  could  be  discovered:  he  merely 
stooped  down  and  picked  an  arrowhead  from  the  ground. 

And  withal  his  stoic  virtues  never  dulled  his  sense  of  awe, 
and  his  long  years  of  observation  never  lessened  his  feeling 
of  strangeness  in  the  presence  of  solitary  Nature.  If  at 
times  his  writing  descends  into  the  cataloguing  style  of  the 
ordinary  naturalist,  yet  the  old  tradition  of  wonder  was  too 
strong  in  him  to  be  more  than  temporarily  obscured.  Un- 
fortunately, his  occasional  faults  have  become  in  some  of  his 
recent  imitators  the  staple  of  their  talent:  but  Thoreau  was 
pre-eminently  the  poet  and  philosopher  of  his  school,  and  I 
cannot  do  better  than  close  these  desultory  notes  with  the 
quotation  of  a  passage  which  seems  to  me  to  convey  most 


A    HERMIT'S    NOTES    ON    THOREAU  167 

vividly  his  sensitiveness  to  the  solemn  mystery  of  the  deep 
forest : 

We  heard  [he  writes  in  his  Chesuncook~\,  come  faintly  echoing,  or  creep- 
ing from  afar,  through  the  moss-clad  aisles,  a  dull,  dry,  rushing  sound, 
with  a  solid  core  to  it,  yet  as  if  half  smothered  under  the  grasp  of  the  luxu- 
riant and  fungus-hke  forest,  like  the  shutting  of  a  door  in  some  distant 
entry  of  the  damp  and  shaggy  wUdemess.  If  we  had  not  been  there,  no 
mortal  had  heard  it.  When  we  asked  Joe  [the  Indian  guide]  in  a  whisper 
what  it  was,  he  answered,  —  "Tree  fall." 


ON  THE   ADVISABLENESS   OF  IMPROVING 
NATURAL   KNOWLEDGE 

Thomas  Henry  Huxley 

This  time  two  hundred  years  ago  —  in  the  beginning  of 
January,  1666  —  those  of  our  forefathers  who  inhabited  this 
great  and  ancient  city  took  breath  between  the  shocks  of 
two  fearful  calamities:  one  not  quite  past,  although  its  fury 
had  abated;    the  other  to  come. 

Within  a  few  yards  of  the  very  spot  on  which  we  are  as- 
sembled, so  the  tradition  runs,  that  painful  and  deadly  malady, 
the  plague,  appeared  in  the  latter  months  of  1664;  and, 
though  no  new  visitor,  smote  the  people  of  England,  and 
especially  of  her  capital,  with  a  violence  unknown  before,  in 
the  course  of  the  following  year.  The  hand  of  a  master  has 
pictured  what  happened  in  those  dismal  months;  and  in  that 
truest  of  fictions,  The  History  of  the  Plague  Year,  Defoe  shows 
death,  with  every  accompaniment  of  pain  and  terror,  stalking 
through  the  narrow  streets  of  old  London,  and  changing  their 
busy  hum  into  a  silence  broken  only  by  the  wailing  of  the 
mourners  of  fifty  thousand  dead;  by  the  woful  denunciations 
and  mad  prayers  of  fanatics;  and  by  the  madder  yells  of 
despairing  profligates. 

But,  about  this  time  in  1666,  the  death-rate  had  sunk  to 
nearly  its  ordinary  amount;  a  case  of  plague  occurred  only 
here  and  there,  and  the  richer  citizens  who  had  flown  from 
the  pest  had  returned  to  their  dwellings.  The  remnant  of 
the  people  began  to  toil  at  the  accustomed  round  of  duty,  or 
of  pleasure;  and  the  stream  of  city  life  bid  fair  to  flow  back 
along  its  old  bed,  with  renewed  and  uninterrupted  vigour. 


IMPROVING  NATURAL   KNOWLEDGE  169 

The  newly  kindled  hope  was  deceitful.  The  great  plague, 
indeed,  returned  no  more;  but  what  it  had  done  for  the 
Londoners,  the  great  fire,  which  broke  out  in  the  autumn  of 
1666,  did  for  London;  and,  in  September  of  that  year,  a  heap 
of  ashes  and  the  indestructible  energy  of  the  people  were  all 
that  remained  of  the  glory  of  five-sixths  of  the  city  within  the 
walls. 

Our  forefathers  had  their  own  ways  of  accounting  for  each 
of  these  calamities.  They  submitted  to  the  plague  in  humility 
and  in  penitence,  for  they  believed  it  to  be  the  judgment  of 
God.  But,  towards  the  fire  they  were  furiously  indignant, 
interpreting  it  as  the  effect  of  the  malice  of  man,  —  as  the 
work  of  the  Republicans,  or  of  the  Papists,  according  as  their 
prepossessions  ran  in  favour  of  loyalty  or  of  Puritanism. 

It  would,  I  fancy,  have  fared  but  ill  with  one  who,  standing 
where  I  now  stand,  in  what  was  then  a  thickly  peopled  and 
fashionable  part  of  London,  should  have  broached  to  our 
ancestors  the  doctrine  which  I  now  propound  to  you  —  that 
all  their  hypotheses  were  alike  wrong;  that  the  plague  was 
no  more,  in  their  sense,  Divine  judgment,  than  the  fire  was 
the  work  of  any  political,  or  of  any  religious  sect;  but  that 
they  were  themselves  the  authors  of  both  plague  and  fire, 
and  that  they  must  look  to  themselves  to  prevent  the  recur- 
rence of  calamities,  to  all  appearance  so  peculiarly  beyond  the 
reach  of  human  control  —  so  evidently  the  result  of  the  wrath 
of  God,  or  of  the  craft  and  subtlety  of  an  enemy. 

And  one  may  picture  to  one's  self  how  harmoniously  the 
holy  cursing  of  the  Puritan  of  that  day  would  have  chimed  in 
with  the  unholy  cursing  and  the  crackling  wit  of  the  Rochesters 
and  Sedleys,  and  with  the  revilings  of  the  political  fanatics, 
if  my  imaginary  plain  dealer  had  gone  on  to  say  that,  if  the 
return  of  such  misfortunes  were  ever  rendered  impossible,  it 
would  not  be  in  virtue  of  the  victory  of  the  faith  of  Laud,  or 
of  that  of  Milton;  and,  as  little,  by  the  triumph  of  republican- 
ism, as  by  that  of  monarchy.     But  that  the  one  thing  needful 


I70  THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY 

for  compassing  this  end  was,  that  the  people  of  England  should 
second  the  efforts  of  an  insignificant  corporation,  the  establish- 
ment of  which,  a  few  years  before  the  epoch  of  the  great 
plague  and  the  great  fire,  had  been  as  little  noticed,  as  they 
were  conspicuous. 

Some  twenty  years  before  the  outbreak  of  the  plague  a  few 
calm  and  thoughtful  students  banded  themselves  together  for 
the  purpose,  as  they  phrased  it,  of  "improving  natural  knowl- 
edge." The  ends  they  proposed  to  attain  cannot  be  stated 
more  clearly  than  in  the  words  of  one  of  the  founders  of  the 
organization :  — 

Our  business  was  (precluding  matters  of  theology  and  state  affairs) 
to  discourse  and  consider  of  philosophical  enquiries,  and  such  as  related 
thereunto:  —  as  Physick,  Anatomy,  Geometry,  Astronomy,  Navigation, 
Staticks,  Magneticks,  Chymicks,  Mechanicks,  and  Natural  Experiments; 
with  the  state  of  these  studies  and  their  cultivation  at  home  and  abroad. 
We  then  discoursed  of  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  the  valves  in  the  veins, 
the  venas  lacte£e,  the  lymphatic  vessels,  the  Copernican  hypothesis,  the 
nature  of  comets  and  new  stars,  the  satellites  of  Jupiter,  the  oval  shape  (as 
it  then  appeared)  of  Saturn,  the  spots  on  the  sun  and  its  turning  on  its 
own  axis,  the  inequalities  and  selenography  of  the  moon,  the  several  phases 
of  Venus  and  Mercury,  the  improvement  of  telescopes  and  grinding  of 
glasses  for  that  purpose,  the  weight  of  air,  the  possibility  or  impossibility 
of  vacuities  and  nature's  abhorrence  thereof,  the  Torricellian  experiment  in 
quicksilver,  the  descent  of  heavy  bodies  and  the  degree  of  acceleration 
therein,  with  divers  other  things  of  like  nature,  some  of  which  were  then  but 
new  discoveries,  and  others  not  so  generally  known  and  embraced  as  now 
they  are;  with  other  things  appertaining  to  what  hath  been  called  the  New 
Philosophy,  which  from  the  times  of  Galileo  at  Florence,  and  Sir  Francis 
Bacon  (Lord  Verulam)  in  England,  hath  been  much  cultivated  in  Italy, 
France,  Germany,  and  other  parts  abroad,  as  well  as  with  us  in  England. 

The  learned  Dr.  Wallis,  writing  in  1696,  narrates  in  these 
words,  what  happened  half  a  century  before,  or  about  1645. 
The  associates  met  at  Oxford,  in  the  rooms  of  Dr.  Wilkins, 
who  was  destined  to  become  a  bishop;  and  subsequently 
coming  together  in  London,  they  attracted  the  notice  of  the 
king.     And  it  is  a  strange  evidence  of  the  taste  for  knowledge 


IMPROVING  NATURAL   KNOWLEDGE  171 

which  the  most  obviously  worthless  of  the  Stuarts  shared 
with  his  father  and  grandfather,  that  Charles  the  Second  was 
not  content  with  saying  witty  things  about  his  philosophers, 
but  did  wise  things  with  regard  to  them.  For  he  not  only 
bestowed  upon  them  such  attention  as  he  could  spare  from  his 
poodles  and  his  mistresses,  but,  being  in  his  usual  state  of 
impecuniosity,  begged  for  them  of  the  Duke  of  Ormond; 
and,  that  step  being  without  effect,  gave  them  Chelsea  College, 
a  charter,  and  a  mace  :  crowning  his  favours  in  the  best  way 
they  could  be  crowned,  by  burdening  them  no  further  with 
royal  patronage  or  state  interference. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  half-dozen  young  men,  studious  of 
the  "New  Philosophy,"  who  met  in  one  another's  lodgings  in 
Oxford  or  in  London,  in  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
grew  in  numerical  and  in  real  strength,  until,  in  its  latter 
part,  the  "Royal  Society  for  the  Improvement  of  Natural 
Knowledge"  had  already  become  famous,  and  had  acquired 
a  claim  upon  the  veneration  of  Englishmen,  which  it  has  ever 
since  retained,  as  the  principal  focus  of  scientific  activity  in 
our  islands,  and  the  chief  champion  of  the  cause  it  was  formed 
to  support. 

It  was  by  the  aid  of  the  Royal  Society  that  Newton  pub- 
lished his  Principia.  If  all  the  books  in  the  world,  except 
the  Philosophical  Transactions,  were  destroyed,  it  is  safe  to 
say  that  the  foundations  of  physical  science  would  remain 
unshaken,  and  that  the  vast  intellectual  progress  of  the  last 
two  centuries  would  be  largely,  though  incompletely,  recorded. 
Nor  have  any  signs  of  halting  or  of  decrepitude  manifested 
themselves  in  our  own  times.  As  in  Dr.  Wallis's  days,  so  in 
these,  "our  business  is,  precluding  theology  and  state  affairs, 
to  discourse  and  consider  of  philosophical  enquiries."  But 
our  "Mathematick"  is  one  which  Newton  would  have  to  go 
to  school  to  learn;  our  "Staticks,  Mechanicks,  Magneticks, 
Chymicks,  and  Natural  Experiments"  constitute  a  mass  of 
physical  and  chemical  knowledge,  a  glimpse  at  which  would 


172  THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY 

compensate  Galileo  for  the  doings  of  a  score  of  inquisitorial 
cardinals;  our  "Physick"  and  "Anatomy"  have  embraced 
such  infinite  varieties  of  beings,  have  laid  open  such  new 
worlds  in  time  and  space,  have  grappled,  not  unsuccessfully, 
with  such  complex  problems,  that  the  eyes  of  Vesalius  and  of 
Harvey  might  be  dazzled  by  the  sight  of  the  tree  that  has 
grown  out  of  their  grain  of  mustard  seed. 

The  fact  is  perhaps  rather  too  much,  than  too  little,  forced 
upon  one's  notice,  nowadays,  that  all  this  marvelous  intel- 
lectual growth  has  a  no  less  wonderful  expression  in  practical 
life;  and  that,  in  this  respect,  if  in  no  other,  the  movement 
symbolized  by  the  progress  of  the  Royal  Society  stands  with- 
out a  parallel  in  the  history  of  mankind. 

A  series  of  volumes  as  bulky  as  the  Transactions  of  the  Royal 
Society  might  possibly  be  filled  with  the  subtle  speculations 
of  the  Schoolmen;  not  improbably,  the  obtaining  a  mastery 
over  the  products  of  mediaeval  thought  might  necessitate  an 
even  greater  expenditure  of  time  and  of  energy  than  the  ac- 
quirement of  the  "New  Philosophy";  but  though  such  work 
engrossed  the  best  intellects  of  Europe  for  a  longer  time  than 
has  elapsed  since  the  great  fire,  its  effects  were  "writ  in  water," 
so  far  as  our  social  state  is  concerned. 

On  the  other  hand,  if  the  noble  first  President  of  the  Royal 
Society  could  revisit  the  upper  air  and  once  more  gladden  his 
eyes  with  a  sight  of  the  familiar  mace,  he  would  find  himself 
in  the  midst  of  a  material  civilization  more  different  from 
that  of  his  day,  than  that  of  the  seventeenth  was  from  that 
of  the  first  century.  And  if  Lord  Brouncker's  native  sagacity 
had  not  deserted  his  ghost,  he  would  need  no  long  reflection 
to  discover  that  all  these  great  ships,  these  railways,  these 
telegraphs,  these  factories,  these  printing-presses,  without 
which  the  whole  fabric  of  modern  English  society  would 
collapse  into  a  mass  of  stagnant  and  starving  pauperism,  — 
that  all  these  pillars  of  our  State  are  but  the  ripples  and  the 
bubbles  upon  the  surface  of  that  great  spiritual  stream,  the 


IMPROVING  NATURAL  KNOWLEDGE         173 

springs  of  which  only,  he  and  his  fellows  were  privileged  to 
see;  and  seeing,  to  recognize  as  that  which  it  behoved  them 
above  all  things  to  keep  pure  and  undefiled. 

It  may  not  be  too  great  a  flight  of  imagination  to  conceive 
our  noble  revenant  not  forgetful  of  the  great  troubles  of  his 
own  day,  and  anxious  to  know  how  often  London  had  been 
burned  down  since  his  time,  and  how  often  the  plague  had 
carried  off  its  thousands.  He  would  have  to  learn  that, 
although  London  contains  tenfold  the  inflammable  matter 
that  it  did  in  1666;  though,  not  content  with  filling  our  rooms 
with  woodwork  and  light  draperies,  we  must  needs  lead 
inflammable  and  explosive  gases  into  every  corner  of  our 
streets  and  houses,  we  never  allow  even  a  street  to  burn  down. 
And  if  he  asked  how  this  had  come  about,  we  should  have 
to  explain  that  the  improvement  of  natural  knowledge  has 
furnished  us  with  dozens  of  machines  for  throwing  water  upon 
fires,  any  one  of  which  would  have  furnished  the  ingenious 
Mr.  Hooke,  the  first  "curator  and  experimenter"  of  the 
Royal  Society,  with  ample  materials  for  discourse  before 
half  a  dozen  meetings  of  that  body;  and  that,  to  say  truth, 
except  for  the  progress  of  natural  knowledge,  we  should  not 
have  been  able  to  make  even  the  tools  by  which  these  machines 
are  constructed.  And,  further,  it  would  be  necessary  to  add, 
that  although  severe  fires  sometimes  occur  and  inflict  great 
damage,  the  loss  is  very  generally  compensated  by  societies, 
the  operations  of  which  have  been  rendered  possible  only  by 
the  progress  of  natural  knowledge  in  the  direction  of  mathe- 
matics, and  the  accumulation  of  wealth  in  virtue  of  other 
natural  knowledge. 

But  the  plague?  My  Lord  Brouncker's  observation  would 
not,  I  fear,  lead  him  to  think  that  Englishmen  of  the  nineteenth 
century  are  purer  in  life,  or  more  fervent  in  religious  faith, 
than  the  generation  which  could  produce  a  Boyle,  an  Evelyn, 
and  a  Milton.  He  might  find  the  mud  of  society  at  the 
bottom,  instead  of  at  the  top,  but  I  fear  that  the  sum  total 


174  THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY 

would  be  as  deserving  of  swift  judgment  as  at  the  time  of  the 
Restoration.  And  it  would  be  our  duty  to  explain  once  more, 
and  this  time  not  without  shame,  that  we  have  no  reason  to 
believe  that  it  is  the  improvement  of  our  faith,  nor  that  of 
our  morals,  which  keeps  the  plague  from  our  city;  but,  again, 
that  it  is  the  improvement  of  our  natural  knowledge. 

We  have  learned  that  pestilences  will  only  take  up  their 
abode  among  those  who  have  prepared  unswept  and  ungar- 
nished  residences  for  them.  Their  cities  must  have  narrow, 
unwatered  streets,  foul  with  accumulated  garbage.  Their 
houses  must  be  ill-drained,  ill-lighted,  ill-ventilated.  Their 
subjects  must  be  ill-washed,  ill-fed,  ill-clothed.  The  London 
of  1665  was  such  a  city.  The  cities  of  the  East,  where  plague 
has  an  enduring  dwelling,  are  such  cities.  We,  in  later  times, 
have  learned  somewhat  of  Nature,  and  partly  obey  her. 
Because  of  this  partial  improvement  of  our  natural  knowledge 
and  of  that  fractional  obedience,  we  have  no  plague;  because 
that  knowledge  is  still  very  imperfect  and  that  obedience  yet 
incomplete,  typhoid  is  our  companion  and  cholera  our  visitor. 
But  it  is  not  presumptuous  to  express  the  belief  that,  when 
our  knowledge  is  more  complete  and  our  obedience  the  expres- 
sion of  our  knowledge,  London  will  count  her  centuries  of 
freedom  from  typhoid  and  cholera,  as  she  now  gratefully 
reckons  her  two  hundred  years  of  ignorance  of  that  plague 
which  swooped  upon  her  thrice  in  the  first  half  of  the  seven- 
teenth century. 

Surely,  there  is  nothing  in  these  explanations  which  is  not 
fully  borne  out  by  the  facts?  Surely,  the  principles  involved 
in  them  are  now  admitted  among  the  fixed  beliefs  of  all  think- 
ing men?  Surely,  it  is  true  that  our  countrymen  are  less 
subject  to  fire,  famine,  pestilence,  and  all  the  evils  which 
result  from  a  want  of  command  over  and  due  anticipation  of 
the  course  of  Nature,  than  were  the  countrymen  of  Milton; 
and  health,  wealth,  and  well-being  are  more  abundant  with 
us  than  with  them?     But  no  less  certainly  is  the  difference 


IMPROVING  NATURAL  KNOWLEDGE         175 

due  to  the  improvement  of  our  knowledge  of  Nature,  and 
the  extent  to  which  that  improved  knowledge  has  been  incor- 
porated with  the  household  words  of  men,  and  has  supplied 
the  springs  of  their  daily  actions. 

Granting  for  a  moment,  then,  the  truth  of  that  which  the 
depredators  of  natural  knowledge  are  so  fond  of  urging,  that 
its  improvement  can  only  add  to  the  resources  of  our  material 
civilization;  admitting  it  to  be  possible  that  the  founders  of 
the  Royal  Society  themselves  looked  for  not  other  reward 
than  this,  I  cannot  confess  that  I  was  guilty  of  exaggeration 
when  I  hinted,  that  to  him  who  had  the  gift  of  distinguishing 
between  prominent  events  and  important  events,  the  origin 
of  a  combined  effort  on  the  part  of  mankind  to  improve 
natural  knowledge  might  have  loomed  larger  than  the  Plague 
and  have  outshone  the  glare  of  the  Fire;  as  a  something 
fraught  with  a  wealth  of  beneficence  to  mankind,  in  compari- 
son with  which  the  damage  done  by  those  ghastly  evils  would 
shrink  into  insignificance. 

It  is  very  certain  that  for  every  victim  slain  by  the  plague, 
hundreds  of  mankind  exist  and  find  a  fair  share  of  happiness 
in  the  world  by  the  aid  of  the  spinning  jenny.  And  the  great 
fire,  at  its  worst,  could  not  have  burned  the  supply  of  coal, 
the  daily  working  of  which,  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  made 
possible  by  the  steam  pump,  gives  rise  to  an  amount  of  wealth 
to  which  the  millions  lost  in  old  London  are  but  as  an  old  song. 

But  spinning  jenny  and  steam  pump  are,  after  all,  but 
toys,  possessing  an  accidental  value;  and  natural  knowledge 
creates  multitudes  of  more  subtle  contrivances,  the  praises 
of  which  do  not  happen  to  be  sung  because  they  are  not 
directly  convertible  into  instruments  for  creating  wealth. 
When  I  contemplate  natural  knowledge  squandering  such 
gifts  among  men,  the  only  appropriate  comparison  I  can  find 
for  her  is  to  liken  her  to  such  a  peasant  woman  as  one  sees  in 
the  Alps,  striding  ever  upward,  heavily  burdened,  and  with 
mind  bent  only  on  her  home;    but  yet  without  effort  and 


176  THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY 

without  thought,  knitting  for  her  children.  Now  stockings 
are  good  and  comfortable  things,  and  the  children  will  un- 
doubtedly be  much  the  better  for  them;  but  surely  it  would 
be  short-sighted,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  to  depreciate  this 
toiling  mother  as  a  mere  stocking-machine  —  a  mere  provider 
of  physical  comforts? 

However,  there  are  blind  leaders  of  the  blind,  and  not  a 
few  of  them,  who  take  this  view  of  natural  knowledge,  and 
can  see  nothing  in  the  bountiful  mother  of  humanity  but  a 
sort  of  comfort-grinding  machine.  According  to  them,  the 
improvement  of  natural  knowledge  always  has  been,  and 
always  must  be,  synonymous  with  no  more  than  the  improve- 
ment of  the  material  resources  and  the  increase  of  the  grati- 
fications of  men. 

Natural  knowledge  is,  in  their  eyes,  no  real  mother  of 
mankind,  bringing  them  up  with  kindness,  and,  if  need  be, 
with  sternness,  in  the  way  they  should  go,  and  instructing 
them  in  all  things  needful  for  their  welfare;  but  a  sort  of 
fairy  god-mother,  ready  to  furnish  her  pets  with  shoes  of 
swiftness,  swords  of  sharpness,  and  omnipotent  Aladdin's 
lamps,  so  that  they  may  have  telegraphs  to  Saturn,  and  see 
the  other  side  of  the  moon,  and  thank  God  they  are  better 
than  their  benighted  ancestors. 

If  this  talk  were  true,  I,  for  one,  should  not  greatly  care  to 
toil  in  the  service  of  natural  knowledge.  I  think  I  would  just 
as  soon  be  quietly  chipping  my  own  flint  axe,  after  the  manner 
of  my  forefathers  a  few  thousand  years  back,  as  be  troubled 
with  the  endless  malady  of  thought  which  now  infests  us  all, 
for  such  reward.  But  I  venture  to  say  that  such  views  are 
contrary  alike  to  reason  and  to  fact.  Those  who  discourse 
in  such  fashion  seem  to  me  to  be  so  intent  upon  trying  to  see 
what  is  above  Nature,  or  what  is  behind  her,  that  they  are 
blind  to  what  stares  them  in  the  face  in  her. 

I  should  not  venture  thus  to  speak  strongly  if  my  justifica- 
tion were  not  to  be  found  in  the  simplest  and  most  obvious 


IMPROVING  NATURAL   KNOWLEDGE         177 

facts,  —  if  it  needed  more  than  an  appeal  to  the  most  notorious 
truths  to  justify  my  assertion,  that  the  improvement  of  natural 
knowledge,  whatever  direction  it  has  taken,  and  however  low 
the  aims  of  those  who  may  have  commenced  it  —  has  not  only 
conferred  practical  benefits  on  men,  but,  in  so  doing,  has 
effected  a  revolution  in  their  conceptions  of  the  universe  and 
of  themselves,  and  has  profoundly  altered  their  modes  of 
thinking  and  their  views  of  right  and  wrong.  I  say  that 
natural  knowledge,  seeking  to  satisfy  natural  wants,  has  found 
the  ideas  which  can  alone  still  spiritual  cravings.  I  say  that 
natural  knowledge,  in  desiring  to  ascertain  the  laws  of  com- 
fort, has  been  driven  to  discover  those  of  conduct,  and  to  lay 
the  foundations  of  a  new  morality. 

Let  us  take  these  points  separately;  and  first,  what 
great  ideas  has  natural  knowledge  introduced  into  men's 
minds? 

I  cannot  but  think  that  the  foundations  of  all  natural 
knowledge  were  laid  when  the  reason  of  man  first  came  face 
to  face  with  the  facts  of  Nature;  when  the  savage  first  learned 
that  the  fingers  of  one  hand  are  fewer  than  those  of  both ; 
that  it  is  shorter  to  cross  a  stream  than  to  head  it;  that  a 
stone  stops  where  it  is  unless  it  be  moved,  and  that  it  drops 
from  the  hand  which  lets  it  go;  that  light  and  heat  come  and 
go  with  the  sun;  that  sticks  burn  away  in  a  fire;  that  plants 
and  animals  grow  and  die;  that  if  he  struck  his  fellow  savage 
a  blow  he  would  make  him  angry,  and  perhaps  get  a  blow  in 
return,  while  if  he  offered  him  a  fruit  he  would  please  him, 
and  perhaps  receive  a  fish  in  exchange.  When  men  had 
acquired  this  much  knowledge,  the  outlines,  rude  though  they 
were,  of  mathematics,  of  physics,  of  chemistry,  of  biology, 
of  moral,  economical,  and  political  science,  were  sketched. 
Nor  did  the  germ  of  religion  fail  when  science  began  to  bud. 
Listen  to  words  which,  though  new,  are  yet  three  thousand 
years  old :  — 


1 78        THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY 

.   .   .  When  in  heaven  the  stars  about  the  moon 
Look  beautiful,  when  all  the  winds  are  laid, 
And  every  height  comes  out,  and  jutting  peak 
And  valley,  and  the  immeasurable  heavens 
Break  open  to  their  highest,  and  all  the  stars 
Shine,  and  the  shepherd  gladdens  in  his  heart. 

If  the  half-savage  Greek  could  share  our  feelings  thus  far, 
it  is  irrational  to  doubt  that  he  went  further,  to  find  as  we  do, 
that  upon  that  brief  gladness  there  follows  a  certain  sorrow,  — 
the  little  light  of  awakened  human  intelligence  shines  so  mere 
a  spark  amidst  the  abyss  of  the  unknown  and  unknowable; 
seems  so  insufficient  to  do  more  than  illuminate  the  imper- 
fections that  cannot  be  remedied,  the  aspirations  that  cannot 
be  realized,  of  man's  own  nature.  But  in  this  sadness,  this 
consciousness  of  the  limitation  of  man,  this  sense  of  an  open 
secret  which  he  cannot  penetrate,  lies  the  essence  of  all  reli- 
gion; and  the  attempt  to  embody  it  in  the  forms  furnished 
by  the  intellect  is  the  origin  of  the  higher  theologies. 

Thus  it  seems  impossible  to  imagine  but  that  the  founda- 
tions of  all  knowledge  —  secular  or  sacred  —  were  laid  when 
intelligence  dawned,  though  the  superstructure  remained 
for  long  ages  so  slight  and  feeble  as  to  be  compatible  with  the 
existence  of  almost  any  general  view  respecting  the  mode  of 
governance  of  the  universe.  No  doubt,  from  the  first,  there 
were  certain  phenomena  which,  to  the  rudest  mind,  presented 
a  constancy  of  occurrence,  and  suggested  that  a  fixed  order 
ruled,  at  any  rate,  among  them.  I  doubt  if  the  grossest  of 
Fetish  worshippers  ever  imagined  that  a  stone  must  have  a 
god  within  it  to  make  it  fall,  or  that  a  fruit  had  a  god  within 
it  to  make  it  taste  sweet.  With  regard  to  such  matters  as 
these,  it  is  hardly  questionable  that  mankind  from  the  first 
took  strictly  positive  and  scientific  views. 

But,  with  respect  to  all  the  less  familiar  occurrences  which 
present  themselves,  uncultured  man,  no  doubt,  has  always 
taken  himself  as  the  standard  of  comparison,  as  the  centre 


IMPROVING  NATURAL   KNOWLEDGE         179 

and  measure  of  the  world;  nor  could  he  well  avoid  doing  so. 
And  finding  that  his  apparently  uncaused  will  has  a  powerful 
effect  in  giving  rise  to  many  occurrences,  he  naturally  enough 
ascribed  other  and  greater  events  to  other  and  greater  voli- 
tions, and  came  to  look  upon  the  world  and  all  that  therein 
is,  as  the  product  of  the  volitions  of  persons  like  himself, 
but  stronger,  and  capable  of  being  appeased  or  angered,  as 
he  himself  might  be  soothed  or  irritated.  Through  such 
conceptions  of  the  plan  and  working  of  the  universe  all  m.an- 
kind  have  passed,  or  are  passing.  And  we  may  now  consider 
what  has  been  the  effect  of  the  improvement  of  natural  knowl- 
edge on  the  views  of  men  who  have  reached  this  stage,  and  who 
have  begun  to  cultivate  natural  knowledge  with  no  desire 
but  that  of  "increasing  God's  honour  and  bettering  man's 
estate." 

For  example,  what  could  seem  wiser,  from  a  mere  material 
point  of  view,  more  innocent,  from  a  theological  one,  to  an 
ancient  people,  than  that  they  should  learn  the  exact  succes- 
sion of  the  seasons,  as  warnings  for  their  husbandmen;  or 
the  position  of  the  stars,  as  guides  to  their  rude  navigators? 
But  what  has  grown  out  of  this  search  for  natural  knowledge 
of  so  merely  useful  a  character?  You  all  know  the  reply. 
Astronomy,  —  which  of  all  sciences  has  filled  men's  minds 
with  general  ideas  of  a  character  most  foreign  to  their  daily 
experience,  and  has,  more  than  any  other,  rendered  it  impos- 
sible for  them  to  accept  the  beliefs  of  their  fathers.  Astron- 
omy, —  which  tells  them  that  this  so  vast  and  seemingly 
solid  earth  is  but  an  atom  among  atoms,  whirling,  no  man 
knows  whither,  through  illimitable  space;  which  demonstrates 
that  what  we  call  the  peaceful  heaven  above  us,  is  but  that 
space,  filled  by  an  infinitely  subtle  matter  whose  particles 
are  seething  and  surging,  like  the  waves  of  an  angry  sea ; 
which  opens  up  to  us  infinite  regions  where  nothing  is  known, 
or  ever  seems  to  have  been  known,  but  matter  and  force,  oper- 
ating according  to  rigid  rules;  which  leads  us  to  contemplate 


i8o  THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY 

phenomena  the  very  nature  of  which  demonstrates  that  they 
must  have  had  a  beginning,  and  that  they  must  have  an  end, 
but  the  very  nature  of  which  also  proves  that  the  beginning 
was,  to  our  conceptions  of  time,  infinitely  remote,  and  that 
the  end  is  as  immeasurably  distant. 

But  it  is  not  alone  those  who  pursue  astronomy  who  ask 
for  bread  and  receive  ideas.  What  more  harmless  than  the 
attempt  to  lift  and  distribute  water  by  pumping  it;  what 
more  absolutely  and  grossly  utilitarian?  Yet  out  of  pumps 
grew  the  discussions  about  Nature's  abhorrence  of  a  vacuum; 
and  then  it  was  discovered  that  Nature  does  not  abhor  a 
vacuum,  but  that  air  has  weight;  and  that  notion  paved  the 
way  for  the  doctrine  that  all  matter  has  weight,  and  that  the 
force  which  produces  weight  is  co-extensive  with  the  universe, 
—  in  short,  to  the  theory  of  universal  gravitation  and  endless 
force.  While  learning  how  to  handle  gases  led  to  the  discovery 
of  oxygen,  and  to  modern  chemistry,  and  to  the  notion  of  the 
indestructibility  of  matter. 

Again,  what  simpler,  or  more  absolutely  practical,  than 
the  attempt  to  keep  the  axle  of  a  wheel  from  heating  when 
the  wheel  turns  round  very  fast?  How  useful  for  carters  and 
gig  drivers  to  know  something  about  this;  and  how  good 
were  it,  if  any  ingenious  person  would  find  out  the  cause  of 
such  phenomena,  and  thence  educe  a  general  remedy  for  them. 
Such  an  ingenious  person  was  Count  Rumford;  and  he  and 
his  successors  have  landed  us  in  the  theory  of  the  per- 
sistence, or  indestructibility,  of  force.  And  in  the  infinitely 
minute,  as  in  the  infinitely  great,  the  seekers  after  natural 
knowledge  of  the  kinds  called  physical  and  chemical,  have 
everywhere  found  a  definite  order  and  succession  of  events 
which  seem  never  to  be  infringed. 

And  how  has  it  fared  with  "  Physick  "  and  Anatomy?  Have 
the  anatomist,  the  physiologist,  or  the  physician,  whose 
business  it  has  been  to  devote  themselves  assiduously  to  that 
eminently  practical   and   direct   end,   the   alleviation   of   the 


IMPROVING  NATURAL  KNOWLEDGE         i8i 

sufferings  of  mankind,  —  have  they  been  able  to  confine  their 
vision  more  absolutely  to  the  strictly  useful?  I  fear  they  are 
the  worst  offenders  of  all.  For  if  the  astronomer  has  set 
before  us  the  infinite  magnitude  of  space,  and  the  practical 
eternity  of  the  duration  of  the  universe;  if  the  physical  and 
chemical  philosophers  have  demonstrated  the  infinite  minute- 
ness of  its  constituent  parts,  and  the  practical  eternity  of 
matter  and  of  force;  and  if  both  have  alike  proclaimed  the 
universality  of  a  definite  and  predicable  order  and  succession 
of  events,  the  workers  in  biology  have  not  only  accepted  all 
these,  but  have  added  more  startling  theses  of  their  own. 
For,  as  the  astronomers  discover  in  the  earth  no  centre  of  the 
universe,  but  an  eccentric  speck,  so  the  naturalists  find  man 
to  be  no  centre  of  the  living  world,  but  one  amidst  endless 
modifications  of  life;  and  as  the  astronomers  observe  the 
mark  of  practically  endless  time  set  upon  the  arrangements 
of  the  solar  system  so  the  student  of  life  finds  the  records  of 
ancient  forms  of  existence  peopling  the  world  for  ages,  which, 
in  relation  to  human  experience,  are  infinite. 

Furthermore,  the  physiologist  finds  life  to  be  as  dependent 
for  its  manifestation  of  particular  molecular  arrangements 
as  any  physical  or  chemical  phenomenon;  and  wherever  he 
extends  his  researches,  fixed  order  and  unchanging  causation 
reveal  themselves,  as  plainly  as  in  the  rest  of  Nature. 

Nor  can  I  find  that  any  other  fate  has  awaited  the  germ  of 
Religion.  Arising,  like  all  other  kinds  of  knowledge,  out  of 
the  action  and  interaction  of  man's  mind,  with  that  which  is 
not  man's  mind,  it  has  taken  the  intellectual  coverings  of 
Fetishism  or  Polytheism;  of  Theism  or  Atheism;  of  Super- 
stition or  Rationalism.  With  these,  and  their  relative  merits 
and  demerits,  I  have  nothing  to  do;  but  this  it  is  needful  for 
my  purpose  to  say,  that  if  the  religion  of  the  present  differs 
from  that  of  the  past,  it  is  because  the  theology  of  the  present 
has  become  more  scientific  than  that  of  the  past;  because  it 
has  not  only  renounced  idols  of  wood  and  idols  of  stone,  but 


1 82  THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY 

begins  to  see  the  necessity  of  breaking  in  pieces  the  idols 
built  up  of  books  and  traditions  and  fine-spun  ecclesiastical 
cobwebs:  and  of  cherishing  the  noblest  and  most  human  of 
man's  emotions,  by  worship  "for  the  most  part  of  the  silent 
sort"  at  the  Altar  of  the  Unknown. 

Such  are  a  few  of  the  new  conceptions  implanted  in  our 
minds  by  the  improvement  of  natural  knowledge.  Men 
have  acquired  the  ideas  of  the  practically  infinite  extent  of  the 
universe  and  of  its  practical  eternity;  they  are  familiar  with 
the  conception  that  our  earth  is  but  an  infinitesimal  fragment 
of  that  part  of  the  universe  which  can  be  seen;  and  that, 
nevertheless,  its  duration  is,  as  compared  with  our  standards 
of  time,  infinite.  They  have  further  acquired  the  idea  that 
man  is  but  one  of  innumerable  forms  of  life  now  existing  on 
the  globe,  and  that  the  present  existences  are  but  the  last  of 
an  immeasurable  series  of  predecessors.  Moreover,  every 
step  they  have  made  in  natural  knowledge  has  tended  to  extend 
and  rivet  in  their  minds  the  conception  of  a  definite  order  of 
the  universe  —  which  is  embodied  in  what  are  called,  by  an 
unhappy  metaphor,  the  laws  of  Nature  —  and  to  narrow  the 
range  and  loosen  the  force  of  men's  belief  in  spontaneity,  or 
in  changes  other  than  such  as  arise  out  of  that  definite  order 
itself. 

Whether  these  ideas  are  well  or  ill  founded  is  not  the  ques- 
tion. No  one  can  deny  that  they  exist,  and  have  been  the 
inevitable  outgrowth  of  the  improvement  of  natural  knowledge. 
And  if  so,  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  they  are  changing  the 
form  of  men's  most  cherished  and  most  important  convictions. 

And  as  regards  the  second  point  —  the  extent  to  which  the 
improvement  of  natural  knowledge  has  remodelled  and  altered 
what  may  be  termed  the  intellectual  ethics  of  men,  —  what 
are  among  the  moral  convictions  most  fondly  held  by  bar- 
barous and  semi-barbarous  people? 

They  are  the  convictions  that  authority  is  the  soundest 
basis  of  belief;   that  merit  attaches  to  a  readiness  to  beheve; 


IMPROVING  NATURAL  KNOWLEDGE         183 

that  the  doubting  disposition  is  a  bad  one,  and  sceptisicm  a 
sin;  that  when  good  authority  has  pronounced  what  is  to 
be  believed,  and  faith  has  accepted  it,  reason  has  no  further 
duty.  There  are  many  excellent  persons  who  yet  hold  by 
these  principles,  and  it  is  not  my  present  business,  or  inten- 
tion, to  discuss  their  views.  All  I  wish  to  bring  clearly  before 
your  minds  is  the  unquestionable  fact,  that  the  improvement 
of  natural  knowledge  is  effected  by  methods  which  directly 
give  the  lie  to  all  these  convictions,  and  assume  the  exact 
reverse  of  each  to  be  true. 

The  improver  of  natural  knowledge  absolutely  refuses  to 
acknowledge  authority,  as  such.  For  him,  scepticism  is  the 
highest  of  duties;  blind  faith  the  one  unpardonable  sin.  And 
it  cannot  be  otherwise,  for  every  great  advance  in  natural 
knowledge  has  involved  the  absolute  rejection  of  authority, 
the  cherishing  of  the  keenest  scepticism,  the  annihilation  of 
the  spirit  of  blind  faith;  and  the  most  ardent  votary  of  science 
holds  his  firmest  convictions,  not  because  the  men  he  most 
venerates  hold  them;  not  because  their  verity  is  testified 
by  portents  and  wonders;  but  because  his  experience  teaches 
him  that  whenever  he  chooses  to  bring  these  convictions  into 
contact  with  their  primary  source.  Nature  —  whenever  he 
thinks  fit  to  test  them  by  appealing  to  experiment  and  to 
observation  —  Nature  will  confirm  them.  The  man  of 
science  has  learned  to  believe  in  justification,  not  by  faith,  but 
by  verification. 

Thus,  without  for  a  moment  pretending  to  despise  the 
practical  results  of  the  improvement  of  natural  knowledge, 
and  its  beneficial  influence  on  material  civilization,  it  must, 
I  think,  be  admitted  that  the  great  ideas,  some  of  which  I 
have  indicated,  and  the  ethical  spirit  which  I  have  endeavoured 
to  sketch,  in  the  few  moments  which  remained  at  my  dis- 
posal, constitute  the  real  and  permanent  significance  of  natural 
knowledge. 

If  these  ideas  be  destined,  as  I  believe  they  are,  to  be  more 


1 84  THOMAS    HENRY    HUXLEY 

and  more  firmly  established  as  the  world  grows  older;  if  that 
spirit  be  fated,  as  I  believe  it  is,  to  extend  itself  into  all  de- 
partments of  human  thought,  and  to  become  coextensive 
with  the  range  of  knowledge;  if,  as  our  race  approaches  its 
maturity,  it  discovers,  as  I  believe  it  will,  that  there  is  but  one 
kind  of  knowledge  and  but  one  method  of  acquiring  it;  then 
we,  who  are  still  children,  may  justly  feel  it  our  highest  duty 
to  recognize  the  advisableness  of  improving  natural  knowl- 
edge, and  so  to  aid  ourselves  and  our  successors  in  our  course 
towards  the  noble  goal  which  lies  before  mankind. 


SCIENCE  1 

(1857-1907) 
Henry  S.    Pritchett 

The  progress  of  science  —  like  human  progress  in  all  direc- 
tions —  is  a  somewhat  irregular  process.  In  this  process  we 
can  generally  distinguish  several  stages,  which,  however, 
merge  constantly  into  one  another.  The  first  stage  is  that 
of  the  collection  of  scientific  data;  the  next,  some  sort  of  log- 
ical arrangement  of  the  data;  and  finally,  generalizations 
made  in  the  effort  to  interpret  the  phenomena.  This  chrono- 
logical arrangement,  however,  is  subject  to  constant  varia- 
tions. The  human  mind  is  active  in  the  construction  of 
theories  formed  far  in  advance  of  positive  knowledge;  and 
while  such  theories  are  often  erroneous,  they  nevertheless 
serve  to  stimulate  investigation  and  to  lead  ultimately  to 
truth.  Scientific  progress  is  thus  made  up  of  a  continuous 
series  of  collections  of  fact,  while  efforts  at  interpretation 
occur,  not  in  their  chronologic  order,  but  rather  in  the  order 
which  the  temperaments  of  men  and  the  tendencies  of  the 
age  may  suggest. 

For  this  reason  it  is  seldom  possible  to  compare  sharply 
the  state  of  science  at  two  distinct  epochs.  There  are,  to  be 
sure,  discoveries  which  belong  to  a  given  year,  but  they  are 
ordinarily  the  culmination  of  long  periods  of  collection  and 
comparison  of  facts,  which  represent  rather  processes  than 
distinct  efforts,  and  the  men  who  contribute  most  to  the  col- 
lection and  correlation  of  facts  are  often  unknown  to  the 
public. 

'  From  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  Vol.  100,  pp.  613-625.  Nov.,  1907.  Re- 
printed by  permission  of  the  author  and  the  pubUshers. 


1 86  HENRY  S.   PRITCHETT 

Furthermore,  it  is  to  be  remembered  when  one  considers 
physical  science  that  the  facts  and  the  phenomena  of  science 
are  the  same  to-day  as  fifty  years  ago.  Chemical  reactions, 
the  nature  and  growth  of  microbe  organisms,  the  transforma- 
tions of  energy,  are  the  same  in  nature  to-day  as  they  were 
a  half-century  ago.  For  this  reason,  the  state  of  science  at 
two  distinct  epochs  cannot  be  contrasted  in  the  same  way 
as  one  might  compare  two  epochs  in  a  creative  art,  such  as 
literature,  in  which  a  whole  new  school  of  authors  may  have 
grown  up  in  consequence  of  a  new  social  factor  or  a  new 
literary  cult. 

Comparisons  of  scientific  progress  at  two  distinct  epochs 
resemble  rather  two  views  from  a  mountain,  one  view-point 
a  little  higher  than  the  other,  each  looking  out  upon  the  same 
topography,  but  showing  hills  and  valleys  and  streams  in 
greater  detail  or  with  greater  clearness  from  one  point  than 
from  the  other  by  reason  of  the  difference  in  altitude.  In 
some  such  way  one  may  compare  the  outlook  in  science  to-day 
with  that  of  a  half-century  ago;  the  facts  and  the  phenomena 
are  the  same,  the  point  of  view  has  changed  enormously. 

To  bring  such  a  view  within  the  compass  of  a  brief  discus- 
sion, one  needs  also  to  keep  in  mind  two  other  facts.  First, 
that  in  making  such  a  comparison,  one  is  viewing  the  scien- 
tific horizon,  not  from  the  standpoint  of  the  specialist  in 
any  department  of  science,  but  rather  from  the  standpoint 
of  the  educated  American.  Such  a  man  is  not  interested  in 
the  minute  subdivisions  of  science,  nor  in  the  names  of  the 
specialists  who  have  served  it;  but  rather  in  the  outcome,  in 
the  direction  both  of  utilitarian  ends  and  of  intellectual  and 
moral  results,  which  the  progress  of  science  promises  to  the 
race.  Second,  in  making  such  a  comparison  from  the  stand- 
point of  the  general  reader,  it  is  most  important  to  keep  in 
view  the  unity  of  human  knowledge.  Science  is  essentially 
one,  and  while,  for  the  sake  of  convenience,  it  must  be  classi- 
fied into  numerous  subdivisions,  these  parts  have  a  relation 


SCIENCE  187 

to  the  whole.  Thus,  physical  science  not  only  concerns  itself 
with  the  objective  world,  but  it  goes  far  beyond  this  and  works 
at  the  relation  between  human  circumstances  and  the  neces- 
sary laws  which  govern  physical  objects.  In  the  same  way, 
the  historical  sciences  transcend  the  social  phenomena  with 
which  they  are  immediately  concerned  and  attempt  an  inter- 
pretation of  these  in  the  light  of  physical  law.  Thus  all 
divisions  of  science  are  inextricably  yoked  together  in  the 
common  effort  to  explain  the  history  of  man,  and  the  adjust- 
ment of  the  human  race  to  its  environment. 

When  one  considers  science  in  this  larger  aspect  he  realizes 
that  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century  and  the  beginning 
of  the  twentieth  are  two  extremely  interesting  epochs  to 
compare.  After  centuries  of  accumulation  of  facts,  the  men 
of  the  first  half  of  the  nineteenth  century  had  begun  those 
great  generalizations  which  the  mid-century  saw  securely  in 
the  grasp  of  the  human  mind,  and  the  fifty  years  which 
have  since  elapsed  have  borne  a  rich  fruitage  of  those 
generalizations. 

The  fundamental  contrasts  which  stand  out  most  promi- 
nently in  such  a  comparison  may  be  grouped  under  four 
heads : — 

1.  The  last  fifty  years  have  seen  a  great  betterment  of  the 
theoretical  basis  of  physical  science. 

2.  This  development  has  been  marked  by  a  notable  stim- 
ulation of  scientific  research;  a  differentiation  of  scientific 
effort,  and  the  creation  thereby  of  a  great  number  of  special 
sciences  or  departments  of  science. 

3.  The  possession  of  a  secure  theoretical  basis  and  the 
intellectual  quickening  which  has  followed  it  have  resulted 
in  the  application  of  science  to  the  arts  and  to  the  industries 
in  such  measure  as  the  world  has  never  before  known.  These 
applications  have  to  do  with  the  comfort,  health,  pleasures, 
and  happiness  of  the  human  race,  and  affect  vitally  all  the 
conditions  of  modern  life. 


1 88  HENRY  S.   PRITCHETT 

4.  Last,  but  perhaps  in  many  respects  the  most  significant 
of  all,  is  the  effect  which  has  been  produced  upon  the  religious 
faith  and  the  philosophy  of  life  of  the  civilized  wprld  by  the 
widespread  introduction  of  what  may  be  called  the  modern 
scientific  spirit. 

I  shall  endeavor  to  point  out  the  more  significant  move- 
ments which  group  themselves  under  these  four  heads,  begging 
the  reader  always  to  bear  in  mind  the  fundamental  facts  to 
which  I  have  alluded,  that  is  to  say,  the  desire  to  present  a 
view,  not  of  the  scientific  specialist,  but  of  the  educated  intel- 
ligent American;  and  secondly,  to  keep  in  mind  at  the  same 
time,  notwithstanding  the  differentiations  of  science,  the 
essential  unity  of  human  knowledge. 

The  Betterment  of  the  Theoretical  Basis  of  Physical  Science 

The  fundamental  sciences  which  have  opened  to  us  such 
knowledge  of  the  laws  of  the  universe  as  we  now  possess  are 
mathematics,  chemistry,  and  physics.  The  first  of  these 
deals  with  numerical  relations,  and  it  has  been  the  tool  with 
which  the  human  mind  has  had  most  experience.  It  had 
advanced  to  a  high  stage  of  perfection  long  before  any  other 
branch  of  science  had  attained  even  respectable  standing. 
Men  learned  to  reason  in  abstract  relations  with  great  skill 
and  proficiency  long  in  advance  of  the  time  when  they  reasoned 
from  physical  phenomena  to  their  cause.  The  end  of  the 
eighteenth  century  and  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth 
saw  a  galaxy  of  astronomers  and  mathematicians  of  whom 
Laplace  and  Gauss  were  the  most  fruitful,  who  carried  mathe- 
matical treatment  of  the  problems  of  astronomy  and  geodesy 
to  a  point  which  left  little  to  be  desired.  The  last  century 
has  seen  little  improvement  in  these  processes,  but  mathe- 
matics has  remained  the  most  facile  tool  in  the  hands  of  the 
physical  investigator,  in  the  interpretation  of  physical  phe- 
nomena, and  in  the  expression  of  the  transformations  of 
energy.     But   for    the    significant   progress   which   has   been 


SCIENCE  '  189 

made  in  the  last  fifty  years  we  are  indebted  to  the  other  two 
fundamental  sciences,  chemistry  and  physics.  The  first 
deals  with  the  composition  and  transformation  of  matter; 
the  second  with  energy  and  the  transformation  of  energy. 

The  connection  between  physics  and  chemistry  is  so  inti- 
mate that  it  is  impossible  to  draw  a  line  of  separation.  In 
general,  we  are  concerned  in  chemistry  with  the  elements 
which,  by  their  combination,  form  various  substances,  and 
with  the  composition  of  these  substances;  while  in  physics 
we  are  concerned  with  matter  as  a  mass,  as  a  substance  repre- 
senting a  fixed  composition,  though  subject  to  changes  of 
form  and  of  place.  Changes  by  which  the  identity  of  the 
body  is  affected,  such  as,  for  example,  when  hydrogen  and 
oxygen  combine  to  form  water,  are  chemical  changes  and  do 
not  belong  to  physics;  while  changes  which  matter  undergoes 
without  altering  its  composition  or  destroying  the  identity 
of  the  body  are  physical  and  are  part  of  the  study  of  physics. 
Inasmuch,  however,  as  chemical  changes  are  accompanied 
by  changes  of  energy,  there  is  a  broad  region  which  belongs 
to  the  investigations  both  of  the  physicist  and  of  the  chemist, 
and  which  completely  connects  those  two  fundamental  sciences. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  nineteenth  century,  John  Dalton 
announced  his  famous  atomic  theory,  which  has  served  to 
unify  the  known  or  suspected  laws  of  chemical  combination. 
Dalton  discovered  that  to  every  element  a  definite  number 
could  be  assigned,  and  that  these  numbers,  or  their  multiples, 
govern  the  formation  of  all  compounds.  Oxygen,  for  instance, 
unites  with  other  elements  in  the  proportion  of  eight  parts 
of  weight,  or  some  multiple  thereof,  and  never  in  other  ratios. 
With  the  help  of  these  atomic  weights  —  or  combining  parts, 
as  they  are  sometimes  called  —  the  composition  of  any  sub- 
stance could  be  represented  by  a  simple  formula.  This  theory 
had  become  well  established  by  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth 
century  as  the  thread  upon  which  all  chemical  results  hung, 
and  the  second  half  of  the  century  began  under  the  stimulation 


IQO 


HENRY  S.   PRITCHETT 


which  this  discovery  brought  about.  Before  this  period, 
inorganic  chemistry  —  that  is,  the  chemistry  of  the  metals, 
of  earths,  of  common  oxides,  bases,  and  salts  —  had  received 
the  greatest  attention,  and  during  the  first  half  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  inorganic  chemistry  embraced  almost  all  the 
work  of  chemists.  The  second  half  of  the  nineteenth  century 
has  been  the  day  of  organic  chemistry.  It  was  at  first  sup- 
posed that  the  two  fields  of  research  were  absolutely  distinct, 
but  this  belief  was  overthrown  by  Woehler,  who  showed  that 
urea,  an  organic  body,  was  easily  prepared  from  inorganic 
materials,  and  since  that  day  a  vast  number  of  organic 
syntheses  have  been  effected.  Out  of  this  study  has  grown 
the  basis  of  the  chemical  theory  of  to-day,  that  is  to  say,  the 
conception  of  chemical  structure,  which  has  placed  the  chem- 
istry of  the  twentieth  century  upon  a  theoretical  foundation 
vastly  more  secure  and  vastly  more  significant  than  that  of 
half  a  century  ago. 

Briefly  stated,  this  theory  of  chemical  structure  is  as  follows: 
Every  atom,  so  far  as  its  union  with  other  atoms  is  concerned, 
is  seen  to  have  a  certain  atom-fixing  power,  which  is  known 
as  its  valence.  For  example,  take  hydrogen  as  the  standard 
of  reference,  and  consider  some  of  its  simplest  compounds. 
In  hydrochloric  acid,  one  atom  of  hydrogen  is  added  to  one 
of  chlorine.  These  elementary  atoms  combine  only  in  the 
ratio  of  one  to  one.  They  are  called  "univalent,"  that  is, 
their  power  of  fixing  or  uniting  with  other  atoms  is  unity.  In 
water,  on  the  other  hand,  a  single  oxygen  atom  holds  two  of 
hydrogen  in  combination,  and  so  oxygen  is  called  a  bivalent 
element.  Nitrogen,  phosphorus,  and  other  elements  go  still 
farther  and  are  trivalent,  while  carbon  is  a  quadrivalent  sub- 
stance, forming,  therefore,  compounds  of  the  most  complex 
type.  The  theory  as  thus  stated  is  no  mere  speculation.  It  is 
the  statement  of  observed  fact,  and  this  shows  that  the  atoms 
unite,  not  at  haphazard,  but  according  to  certain  rules. 

A  notable  advance  took  place  in  the  years  i860  to  1870  in 


SCIENCE  191 

the  discovery  of  a  general  law  connecting  all  the  chemical 
elements.  That  those  elements  are  related  was  early  rec- 
ognized, but  it  was  not  until  the  epoch-making  work  of 
Mendeleeff  that  the  periodic  variation  in  their  properties  was 
recognized,  and  the  connection  between  the  valency  of  the 
atom  and  its  properties  and  compounds  was  interpreted. 

Within  twenty  years  chemistry  has  been  enormously 
developed  upon  its  electrical  side,  both  theoretically  and 
practically.  From  a  purely  chemical  point  of  view,  probably 
the  most  important  electrical  phenomena  are  those  of  elec- 
trolysis. When  a  current  of  electricity  passes  through  a 
compound  solution,  the  latter  undergoes  decomposition,  and 
the  dissolved  substance  is  separated  into  two  parts  which 
move  with  unequal  velocities  in  opposite  directions.  The 
conducting  liquid  is  called  an  electrolyte,  and  the  separated 
parts,  or  particles,  of  the  compound  in  solution  are  termed 
its  ions.  One  ion  is  positively,  the  other  negatively,  electri- 
fied, and  hence  they  tend  to  accumulate  around  the  opposite 
poles.  Under  suitable  conditions,  the  separation  can  be  made 
permanent,  and  this  fact  is  of  the  greatest  significance  in  the 
different  processes  of  electrometallurgy. 

The  modern  science  of  physics  has  its  basis  in  the  doctrine 
of  the  conservation  of  energy.  This  doctrine  as  stated  in 
the  words  of  Maxwell  is,  "The  total  energy  of  any  material 
system  is  a  quantity  which  can  neither  be  increased  nor 
diminished  by  any  action  between  the  parts  of  the  system, 
though  it  may  be  transformed  into  any  of  the  forms  of  which 
energy  is  susceptible."  A  little  more  than  a  half-century 
ago,  our  knowledge  of  physics  consisted  in  the  main  of  a  large 
mass  of  facts  loosely  tied  together  by  theories  not  always 
consistent.  Between  1845  and  1850  the  labors  of  Mayer, 
Joule,  Helmholtz,  and  Sir  William  Thomson  had  placed  the 
theory  of  the  conservation  of  energy  upon  firm  ground,  and 
for  the  last  half-century  it  has  been  the  basic  law  for  testing 
the  accuracy  of  physical  experiments  and  for  extending  phys- 


192  HENRY  S.   PRITCHETT 

ical  theory.  To  the  presence  of  such  a  highly  defined  and 
consistent  theory  is  due  the  great  development  which  our 
generation  has  witnessed. 

The  most  remarkable  development  of  the  half-century 
in  the  domain  of  physics  has  gone  on  in  that  field  included 
under  the  name  radio-activity,  a  development  which  bids 
fair  to  affect  the  whole  theory  of  physical  processes.  By 
radiation  is  meant  the  propagation  of  energy  in  straight  lines. 
This  is  effected  by  vibrations  in  the  ether  which  fills  all  space, 
both  molecular  and  inter-stellar.  This  theory  is  based  upon 
the  conception  that  the  vibrations  are  due  to  oscillations  of 
the  ultimate  particles  of  matter. 

Experiments  in  vacuum  tubes  by  various  investigators 
led  to  a  long  series  of  most  interesting  results,  culminating 
in  the  discovery  by  Roentgen  in  1895  of  the  so-called  X-rays. 
These  rays  have  properties  quite  different  from  those  of 
ordinary  light.  They  are  not  deflected  by  a  magnet  and  will 
penetrate  glass,  tin,  aluminum,  and  in  general  metals  of  low 
atomic  weight.  In  1896,  Becquerel  discovered  that  uranium 
possessed  the  property  of  spontaneously  emitting  rays  capable 
of  passing  through  bodies  opaque  to  ordinary  light. 

Shortly  after  the  discovery  of  this  property  in  uranium 
Madame  and  Professor  Curie  succeeded  in  separating  from 
pitchblende  two  new  substances  of  very  high  radio-activity, 
called  radium  and  polonium,  the  latter  named  after  her  native 
land,  Poland. 

The  radiations  from  these  various  substances  are  invisible 
to  the  eye,  but  act  upon  a  photographic  plate  and  discharge 
an  electrified  body.  A  very  active  substance  like  radium 
will  cause  phosphorescent  substance  to  become  luminous. 

If  a  magnetic  field  is  applied  to  a  pencil  of  radium  rays 
the  rays  are  separated  out  into  three  kinds,  much  as  light 
rays  are  sifted  out  by  passing  through  a  prism.  One  set  of 
rays  is  bent  to  the  left,  another  to  the  right,  and  the  third 
set  keeps  on  in  the  original  direction. 


SCIENCE  193 

The  emission  of  the  particles  which  deviate  to  the  left  and 
right  appears  to  proceed  from  explosions  in  some  of  the  atoms 
of  these  substances.  It  is  estimated  that  two  hundred  thou- 
sand millions  are  expelled  from  one  gram  of  radium  bromide 
every  second,  yet  the  number  of  atoms  in  a  gram  is  so 
enormous  that  this  rate  of  emission  may  continue  some 
years  without  an  appreciable  wasting  of  the  mass  of  the 
substance. 

The  discovery  of  these  substances  with  their  remarkable 
properties  has  not  only  led  to  interesting  applications  of  the 
most  novel  kind,  but  has  stimulated  the  imagination  of  inves- 
tigators, and  given  rise  to  various  new  explanations  of  cosmic 
phenomena.  For  example,  it  has  been  suggested  that  the 
internal  heat  of  the  earth  may  be  kept  up  by  the  heat  emitted 
from  radium  and  other  radio-active  matter.  All  such  theories 
are  yet  in  the  speculative  stage.  It  may  be  said  in  general 
that,  while  the  phenomena  presented  by  the  radio-active 
substances  have  caused  physicists  to  revise  physical  theory 
in  respect  to  molecular  energy,  nothing  has  been  discovered 
which  is  inconsistent  with  the  fundamental  law  of  the  con- 
servation of  energy. 

Progress  no  less  real  has  been  made  in  those  sciences  which 
deal  with  the  study  of  the  human  body  and  the  human  mind. 
Physiology,  during  the  last  half  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
has  gained  nearly  all  our  present  knowledge  of  the  chemistry 
of  digestion  and  secretion  and  of  the  mechanics  of  circulation, 
while  psychology  has  advanced  from  a  branch  of  philosophy 
to  the  position  of  a  distinctive  science. 

From  whatever  point  of  view  one  regards  human  progress, 
he  will  be  led  to  realize  that  one  of  the  greatest  achievements 
of  the  race  is  the  work  of  the  army  of  scholars  and  investigators 
to  whom  is  due  the  betterment  in  these  fifty  years  of  the 
theoretical  basis  of  these  two  fundamental  physical  sciences, 
a  basis  which  is  not  only  intellectually  sound,  but  intellectually 
fruitful.     The    roll    of    these    names  —  chemists,    physicists. 


194  HENRY   S.   PRITCHETT 

biologists,  inventors,  investigators  in  all  fields  of  human  knowl- 
edge —  is  made  up  from  all  lands.  It  is  a  world's  roll  of  honor 
in  which  not  only  individuals  but  nations  have  earned  immor- 
tality. Of  all  the  men  whose  names  are  here  written,  there 
are  two  whose  work  is  so  fundamental  and  far-reaching  that 
the  world  is  glad  to  accord  to  them  a  preeminence.  These 
are  the  Frenchman,  Louis  Pasteur,  and  the  Englishman, 
Charles   Darwin. 

The  Differentiation  of  Science  and  the  Development  of 
Special  Sciences 

Under  the  stimulus  of  the  great  fundamental  theories  which 
have  tended  to  unify  chemistry  and  physics,  and  also  to  direct 
attention  to  a  vast  field  common  to  both  and  previously  un- 
explored, a  large  number  of  special  sciences,  or  divisions  of 
science,  have  been  developed.  Once  the  law  of  chemical 
structure  was  ascertained  and  the  possibilities  were  made 
evident  which  this  law  involved,  and  once  the  law  of  the  con- 
servation of  energy  was  clear  and  the  multiform  transforma- 
tions which  might  be  made  under  such  a  law  formulated, 
there  was  opened  in  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  physical 
universe  the  opportunity  for  new  combinations  and  for  new 
transformations.  The  result  of  this  has  been  that  in  the  last 
five  decades  physicists  and  chemists,  having  these  threads 
in  their  hands  as  guides,  have  gone  off  into  all  sorts  of  by- 
paths. There  has  grown  up  through  these  excursions  a  great 
number  of  minor  divisions  of  science,  dependent  on  processes 
partly  physical  and  partly  chemical,  but  all  related  to  one 
another  and  to  the  fundamental  sciences  of  chemistry  and 
physics. 

By  means  of  that  wonderful  instrument,  the  spectroscope, 
has  arisen  the  combination  of  the  old  science  of  astronomy 
with  physics,  known  as  astro-physics.  There  have  been  in- 
teresting gains  in  the  older  astronomy  during  this  period, 
such  as  the  discoveries  of  the  new  satellites  of  Mars,  of  Jupiter, 


SCIENCE  195 

and  of  Saturn,  all  by  American  astronomers;  the  discovery 
of  some  hundreds  of  asteroids  with  the  unexpected  form  of 
some  of  their  orbits;  and  the  variation  of  the  terrestrial  lati- 
tude. All  these  discoveries  are  in  the  direction  of  the  appli- 
cations of  gravitational  astronomy  upon  the  foundations  laid 
by  Newton,  Laplace,  and  Gauss.  The  significant  gains  have 
come,  however,  in  the  new  astronomy,  which  is  really  celestial 
physics,  and  are  the  outcome  of  the  modern  spectroscope 
and  photographic  plate.  The  motion  of  stars  and  nebulae 
in  the  line  of  sight,  and  discovery  of  invisible  companions  by 
the  doubling  of  the  lines  of  the  spectrum,  and  above  all,  the 
determinations  of  the  physical  constitution  of  the  distant  suns 
and  nebulae  have  thrown  a  great  light  not  only  upon  cosmic 
evolution,  but  upon  the  probable  history  of  our  own  planet. 
Perhaps  no  one  result  of  the  whole  study  is  so  significant  as 
this:  In  the  far-distant  suns  which  shine  upon  us,  as  well 
as  in  our  own  sun,  we  find  only  those  same  elements  which 
exist  in  our  own  soil  and  in  our  own  atmosphere.  Just  as 
the  law  of  the  combination  of  chemical  elements  and  of  the 
conservation  of  energy  points  to  a  uniform  physical  law  on 
our  planet,  so  also  the  unity  of  material  composition  through- 
out the  universe  of  stars  seems  to  point  with  equal  significance 
to  a  physical  unity  of  the  whole  universe. 

Early  in  the  seventeenth  century,  certain  "animalculae," 
as  they  were  called,  became  recognized  as  the  simplest  form 
of  life;  but  the  modern  science  of  bacteriology  dates  from  the 
epoch-making  investigations  of  Pasteur  and  Koch,  conducted 
within  the  last  thirty-five  years.  One  of  the  most  important 
steps  was  the  introduction  by  Koch  of  trustworthy  methods 
for  separating  individual  bacterial  species.  Since  many 
distinct  species  are  indistinguishable  from  one  another  by 
size  and  shape,  it  was  obviously  impossible  by  the  older 
methods  of  study  to  separate  one  from  the  other.  Koch 
suggested  the  use  of  solid  materials  as  culture  media,  thereby 
representing  the  conditions  so  often  seen  when  such  organic 


196  HENRY  S.   PRITCHETT 

matter  as  bread  becomes  mouldy.  He  demonstrated  that  the 
addition  of  gelatin  to  the  infusions  employed  for  the  successful 
cultivation  of  bacteria  converted  them  into  practically  solid 
culture  media  without  robbing  them  of  any  of  their  useful 
properties;  and  by  the  employment  of  such  media  it  was 
possible  to  separate  as  pure  cultures  the  individual  species 
that  one  desired  to  analyze.  The  introduction  of  this  method 
for  the  isolation  and  study  of  bacterial  species  in  pure  cultures 
constitutes  perhaps  the  most  important  stimulus  to  the  devel- 
opment of  modern  bacteriology. 

The  studies  made  by  Pasteur  upon  fermentation  and  the 
souring  of  wine,  and  upon  the  maladies  of  silkworms,  together 
with  Koch's  studies  upon  the  infections  of  wounds,  and  the 
appropriate  methods  of  analyzing  them,  were  rich  in  suggestion 
to  the  workers  in  this  new  field.  Two  of  the  most  important 
results  have  been  in  the  application  of  these  studies  to  the 
problems  of  the  sanitary  engineer  and  to  the  work  of  preventive 
medicine. 

The  drinking  water  of  our  cities  is  purified  to-day  by  the 
process  of  natural  sand  filtration,  by  the  septic  tank  process, 
etc.  In  these  methods  the  living  bacteria  are  the  instruments 
by  which  the  results  are  obtained.  The  sand  grains  in  the 
filters  serve  only  as  objects  to  which  the  bacteria  can  attach 
themselves  and  multiply.  By  the  normal  life  processes  of 
the  bacteria  the  polluting  organic  matter  in  the  water  is  used 
up  and  inert  material  given  off  as  a  result. 

But  even  more  important  than  this  work  of  sanitation  is 
the  contribution  of  bacteriology  to  preventive  medicine. 
Early  in  the  course  of  his  work,  Pasteur  discovered  that  certain 
virulent  pathogenic  bacteria,  when  kept  under  certain  con- 
ditions, gradually  lost  their  disease-producing  power,  with- 
out their  other  life  properties  being  disturbed.  When  injected 
into  animals  in  this  attenuated  state,  there  resulted  a  mild, 
temporary,  and  modified  form  of  infection,  usually  followed 
by    recovery.     With    recovery    the    animal    so    treated    was 


SCIENCE  197 

immune  from  the  activities  of  the  fully  virulent  bacteria  of 
the  same  species.  The  development  of  this  fruitful  idea  has 
not  only  resulted  in  the  saving  of  millions  of  money,  but  it 
has  resulted  as  well  in  the  prevention  of  human  disease,  the 
greatest  triumph  of  modern  science. 

A  study  of  the  laws  of  physics  and  chemistry  in  relation  to 
living  plants  and  animals  led  in  a  similar  way  to  the  discovery 
that  the  processes  of  the  entire  race  history  are  reflected 
in  the  processes  of  the  growth  of  the  embryo,  a  result  which 
created  the  new  science  of  embryology. 

Similarly,  in  the  studies  of  energy  differentiations  have  gone 
on.  Fifty  years  ago,  our  colleges  had  a  single  professor  of 
what  was  called  at  that  day  natural  philosophy.  To-day, 
a  modern  college  will  divide  this  field  among  a  corps  of  teachers 
and  investigators,  one  devoting  his  attention  to  mechanics, 
another  to  heat,  another  to  electricity,  another  to  magnetism, 
and  another  to  sound  and  light.  In  turn,  electricity  will  be 
subdivided,  the  investigator  concerning  himself  with  a  con- 
stantly narrowing  field  of  phenomena,  with  the  expectation 
of  working  out  completely  the  problem  whose  solution  is 
sought.  All  these  departments  of  physical  science,  with 
their  numerous  sub-divisions,  are  the  offspring  of  the  funda- 
mental sciences  chemistry  and  physics.  No  contrast  is  more 
striking  in  comparing  the  science  of  to-day  with  that  of  fifty 
years  ago  than  this  differentiation,  unless  it  be  the  even  more 
significant  fact  that,  notwithstanding  this  differentiation  and 
division  of  labor,  the  essential  unity  of  science  is  more  appar- 
ent than  ever  before.  Astronomy,  geology,  and  biology  were, 
fifty  years  ago,  separate,  and  to  a  large  extent  unrelated, 
sciences.     To-day  they  are  seen  to  flourish  in  a  common  soil. 

The  Application  of  Science  to  the  Arts  and  to  the  Industries 

In  no  other  way  has  the  march  of  science  in  the  last  half- 
century  been  so  evident  to  the  eyes  of  the  average  intelligent 
man  as  in  its  practical  applications  to  the  arts  and  industries. 


198  HENRY  S.   PRITCHETT 

Modern  life  to-day  is  on  a  different  plane  from  that  of  fifty 
years  ago  by  reason  of  applied  science  alone.  Whether  this 
has  added  to  the  joy  of  living,  and  to  the  general  happiness 
of  mankind,  is  another  question;  but  that  it  has  raised  the 
standard  of  health,  that  it  has  added  enormously  to  the  com- 
fort and  to  the  conveniences  of  man,  no  one  can  dispute. 
The  house  of  fifty  years  ago  lacked  the  facilities  of  pure  water; 
it  was  illuminated,  at  the  best,  by  imperfect  gas  jets;  it  was 
warmed  by  the  old-fashioned  stove;  and  if  situated  in  an  iso- 
lated place,  communication  was  possible  only  by  messenger 
at  the  expense  of  time  and  labor.  The  modern  sanitary  water 
service,  electric  lighting,  modern  means  of  construction,  and 
the  telephone,  make  the  dwelling-house  of  to-day  a  wholly 
different  place  from  the  dwelling-house  of  fifty  years  ago. 

Steam  transportation  had  already  begun  its  marvelous 
work  before  the  epoch  at  which  we  start,  but  its  great  applica- 
tion has  been  made  in  the  last  half-century.  Just  as  the  fruit- 
ful theories  of  physics  and  chemistry  have  advanced  physical 
science  in  all  its  applications,  so  also  the  elementary  develop- 
ment and  application  of  steam  have  blossomed  in  the  last 
half-century  into  a  transportation  system  which  makes  the 
world  of  to-day  a  wholly  different  world  from  that  of  fifty 
years  ago. 

Perhaps  the  fundamental  application  of  science  which  has 
done  the  most  to  change  the  face  of  the  civilized  world  is  the 
invention  by  Sir  Henry  Bessemer  of  a  cheap  means  of  manu- 
facturing steel  from  pig  iron.  On  August  13,  fifty-one  years 
ago,  he  read  before  the  British  Association  at  Cheltenham 
a  paper  dealing  with  the  invention  which  has  made  his  name 
famous.  His  paper  was  entitled  "The  Manufacture  of  Malle- 
able Iron  and  Steel  without  Fuel"  and  described  a  new  and 
cheap  process  of  making  steel  from  pig  iron  by  blowing  a  blast 
of  air  through  it  when  in  a  state  of  fusion,  so  as  to  clear  it 
of  all  carbon,  and  then  adding  the  requisite  quantity  of  carbon 
to  produce  steel.     Not  one  man  in  ten  thousand  knows  who 


SCIENCE  199 

Sir  Henry  Bessemer  was  or  what  he  did,  but  every  man  who 
touches  civilization  leads  to-day  a  different  life  from  that  which 
he  would  have  led,  by  reason  of  Bessemer's  invention.  Cheap 
steel  is  the  basis  of  our  material  advancement. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  applications  of  chemistry  is 
that  involved  in  the  manufacture  of  aniline  colors.  Up  to 
the  time  of  the  investigation  of  Sir  William  Perkin  in  1856, 
commerce  had  depended  on  vegetable  colors,  which  had  been 
obtained  at  great  cost  and  difficulty.  That  these  rainbow 
hues  could  ever  be  procured  from  so  insignificant  a  substance 
as  coal  tar  seemed  as  improbable  as  anything  which  one  could 
imagine,  and  yet  from  the  labors  of  the  chemist  there  have 
come  in  the  last  thirty  years  colors  surpassing  in  beauty 
anything  produced  by  nature.  The  manufacture  of  such 
colors  has  come  to  be  a  great  industry,  employing  thousands 
of  men  and  enormous  capital,  and  this  too  out  of  a  waste 
product  which  manufacturers  were  once  quite  ready  to  throw 
away. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  combinations  of  chemistry  and 
physics  is  that  shown  in  the  modern  photograph.  Photog- 
raphy as  an  art  had  reached  a  considerable  stage  of  develop- 
ment by  the  early  fifties,  but  the  wet  collodion  process,  as 
it  was  called,  while  possible  for  the  professional,  was  difficult 
for  the  amateur.  Plates  had  to  be  prepared  and  finished  on 
the  spot,  transportation  was  difficult,  and  there  was  a  demand 
for  a  process  which  could  be  used  in  the  field  as  easily  as  in 
the  office.  The  first  step  came  in  1856  in  the  invention  of 
what  was  called  dry  collodion,  followed  rapidly  by  similar 
inventions  which  did  away  with  the  troublesome  preparation 
of  the  plate,  and  the  modern  camera,  an  instrument,  so  con- 
venient and  easy  of  transportation,  and  yet  so  safe  and  sure 
in  its  results,  that  on  the  wildest  expeditions  the  most  perfect 
photographs  can  be  taken. 

To-day  the  word  which  best  represents  to  the  popular  mind 
the  triumphant  application  of  science  is  the  word  "electricity." 


2O0  HENRY  S.   PRITCHETT 

The  fruitful  idea  that  electricity,  like  light,  was  only  a  form 
of  energy,  lies  at  the  base  of  great  inventions  which  have  been 
made.  The  moment  that  electricity  was  produced  by  trans- 
forming other  forms  of  energy,  there  became  possible  all  sorts 
of  machines  which  could  not  be  imagined  under  any  other 
hypothesis.  It  was  in  the  development  of  this  idea  that  the 
inventors  have  perfected  during  this  half-century  the  electric 
motor,  the  electric  light,  the  telephone,  and  the  thousand 
separate  devices  by  which  mechanical  energy  is  transformed 
into  electric  energy,  and  this  again  into  heat  or  light.  It  is 
the  machines  for  these  marvelous  transformations  which  have 
been  invented  in  the  last  generation  that  have  made  the 
greatest  difference  in  our  modern  life.  The  storage  battery, 
the  arc  light,  the  incandescent  light,  and  the  telephone  have 
all  come  in  as  actual  parts  of  our  everyday  life  within  the 
memory  of  men  of  middle  age,  and,  as  a  crowning  exploit 
of  the  century,  telegraphy  without  wires  brings  us  messages 
from  ships  in  mid-ocean.  In  every  department  of  domestic 
life,  in  every  line  of  transportation,  in  almost  all  methods 
of  communication  between  men  and  cities,  the  application 
of  electricity  has  come  to  play  a  great  role.  So  numerous 
are  these  applications,  so  important  are  they  to  our  comfort 
and  to  our  well-being,  that  we  have  ceased  to  wonder  at  them, 
and  year  by  year  new  applications  are  made  which  a  few 
decades  ago  would  have  called  forth  astonishment,  but  which 
we  receive  as  a  part  of  the  day's  work.  So  great  is  this  field,  so 
promising  are  the  applications  which  we  may  hope  to  see  made, 
that  no  man  can  foretell  what  the  inventions  of  the  future 
may  be. 

To-day  we  are  interested  not  less  in  the  applications  of 
electricity  than  in  its  supply.  So  well  is  the  law  of  transforma- 
tion of  energy  now  understood  and  so  sure  are  the  results  of 
our  inventors,  that  we  may  confidently  expect  that  the  appli- 
cations of  electricity  to  the  arts  and  industries  will  reach 
almost  any  point  of  perfection.     A  vital  question  is,  can  a 


SCIENCE  20I 

supply  of  energy  be  found  which  can  be  efficiently  and  cheaply 
transformed  into  electric  energy? 

At  present  our  chief  source  of  electricity  is  coal,  and  the 
century  just  closing  has  given  no  particular  indication  of  a 
possible  rival  to  coal,  unless  it  be  water  power.  Over  a  large 
part  of  the  earth's  surface,  however,  neither  coal  nor  water 
power  is  accessible.  Furthermore,  the  supply  of  coal  is  limited. 
It  is  likely  to  become  in  the  near  future  more  and  more  expen- 
sive, and  one  of  the  great  problems  which  the  inventors  of 
our  day  face  is  the  problem  of  devising  a  cheap  and  effective 
source  of  energy  for  the  production  of  power. 

There  is  one  source  to  which  all  minds  revert  when  this 
question  is  mentioned,  a  source  most  promising  and  yet  one 
which  has  so  far  eluded  the  investigator.  The  sun  on  a  clear 
day  delivers  upon  each  square  yard  of  the  earth's  surface  the 
equivalent  of  approximately  two  horse-power  of  mechanical 
energy  working  continuously.  If  even  a  fraction  of  this 
power  could  be  transformed  into  mechanical  or  electrical 
energy  and  stored,  it  would  do  the  world's  work.  Here  is 
power  delivered  at  our  very  doors  without  cost.  How  to 
store  the  energy  so  generously  furnished,  and  keep  it  on  tap 
for  future  use,  is  the  problem.  That  the  next  half-century 
will  see  some  solution  thereof,  chemical  or  otherwise,  seems 
likely. 

Perhaps  in  no  way  have  the  applications  of  science  so  min- 
istered to  human  happiness  as  in  the  contributions  of  the  last 
fifty  years  to  preventive  medicine,  surgery,  and  sanitation. 
Within  this  half-century  Pasteur  did  his  great  work  on  sponta- 
neous generation  and  in  the  development  of  the  theory  of  anti- 
toxins. Following  in  his  steps,  Lister  applied  the  principles 
which  Pasteur  had  enunciated,  in  the  treatment  of  wounds  and 
sores.  The  whole  outcome  has  been  a  splendid  step  forward, 
not  only  in  such  matters  as  the  treatment  of  diphtheria,  yellow 
fever,  and  malaria,  but  also  in  the  direction  of  preventive 
medicine.    The  scientific  world  is  organizing  for  a  fight  to  the 


202  HENRY  S.   PRITCHETT 

death  with  tuberculosis,  that  worst  malady  of  mankind,  and 
if  there  is  any  such  advance  in  general  education  and  in  gen- 
eral knowledge  during  the  next  fifty  years  as  in  the  last,  it 
is  not  too  much  to  hope  that  this  dread  scourge  of  humanity 
may  be  vanquished.  In  no  direction  in  which  science  touches 
life  is  there  a  greater  contrast  between  the  life  of  fifty  years 
ago  and  that  of  to-day  than  in  these  matters  of  preventive 
medicine,  of  surgery,  and  of  sanitation;  and  it  is  worth  recall- 
ing that  these  advances  have  come,  not  through  the  profes- 
sional physician  or  surgeon,  but  through  the  laboratory 
investigations  of  the  chemist  and  of  the  physicist.  Applied 
chemistry  and  physics  are  the  sources  from  which  our  sanitary 
and  surgical  gains  have  resulted. 

A  no  less  striking  application  of  science  in  this  half-century 
is  to  be  found  in  those  matters  which  affect  transportation, 
whether  on  land  or  sea.  Within  this  brief  span  of  a  genera- 
tion and  a  half,  steam  transportation  has  been  so  enormously 
advanced  that  the  transit  of  the  largest  oceans  has  become 
little  more  than  a  pleasure  trip.  Within  this  period  the  first 
electric  car  was  set  rolling  over  the  earth's  surface,  and  the 
whole  development  of  modern  transportation,  including 
the  automobile,  belongs  to  this  half-century. 

Equally  impressive,  but  not  so  often  referred  to,  are  the 
applications  of  science  in  the  transmission  of  intelligence. 
Fifty  years  ago  the  land  telegraph  was  in  its  infancy,  and  its 
use  was  restricted  to  messages  of  pressing  business  importance. 
Within  the  span  of  time  of  which  we  are  speaking,  the  tele- 
graph has  been  developed  into  an  indispensable  adjunct  of 
every  civilized  man's  business.  Submarine  cables  extended 
under  the  sea  connect  all  the  continents  of  the  earth.  Not 
only  have  these  enormous  changes  come,  but  the  invention 
of  the  telephone  makes  it  possible  to  transmit  the  human 
voice  across  the  space  of  hundreds  of  miles;  and  finally,  as 
a  first-fruit  of  the  twentieth-century  inventor's  work,  wireless 
telegraphy  sends  its  messages  through  the  air  from  the  distant 


SCIENCE  203 

ship  to  the  shore.  These  apphcations,  which  enable  each 
civilized  man  to  know  the  business  of  all  the  rest,  are  to  have 
an  effect  on  our  mode  of  life,  on  our  relations  with  other  nations, 
and  on  the  general  culture  of  the  civilized  world,  such  as  we 
perhaps  cannot  even  to-day  imagine.  One  of  the  results  of 
this  development  in  America  is  the  modern  newspaper,  filled 
with  news  from  the  ends  of  the  earth.  The  ease  of  trans- 
mission makes  it  possible  to  report  not  only  the  important 
things,  but  the  scandal  and  the  gossip,  each  item  of  which 
ought  to  die  in  its  own  cradle.  The  modern  sensational  paper 
is  one  of  the  unripe  fruits  of  the  scientific  applications  of  our 
age.  Social  development  in  the  last  half-century  has  lagged 
behind  scientific  progress  and  application.  The  education 
of  the  American  people  in  obedience  to  law  and  in  framing 
effective  legislation  for  the  distribution  of  the  proceeds  of 
production  are  far  behind  the  scientific  efficiency  of  the  age. 
A  serious  question  of  civilization  is,  "How  may  the  nation 
be  rightly  educated  and  wisely  led,  to  the  end  that  the  tre- 
mendous productivity  of  applied  science  may  ennoble  and 
enrich,  rather  than  vulgarize  and  corrupt  it?" 

The  Effect  of  Modern  Scientific  Research  on  the  Religious  Faith 
and  the  Philosophy  of  Life  of  the  Civilized  World 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  development  of  science 
in  these  last  five  decades  has  produced  a  greater  effect  upon 
the  beliefs  and  the  philosophy  of  civilized  man  than  that  of 
all  the  centuries  preceding.  Fifty  years  ago  the  scientific 
world  stood  upon  the  brink  of  a  great  philosophical  conception 
as  to  the  origin  of  the  system  of  nature  which  we  see  about  us. 
The  epoch-making  work  of  Laplace  and  his  contemporary 
mathematicians  upon  the  development  of  the  solar  system, 
the  researches  of  Lyell  concerning  the  history  of  our  own  earth, 
the  work  of  Buffon  and  Lamarck,  the  reflections  of  the  earlier 
thinkers,  like  Leibnitz,  ScheUing,  and  Kant,  all  served  in  their 
respective  branches  of  science  to  prepare  the  world  for  some 


204  HENRY   S.   PRITCHETT 

generalizations  as  to  the  origin  of  life  and  the  variations  of 
living  forms.  In  human  history  there  had  been  recognized 
an  evolution,  one  form  of  institution  growing  out  of  another, 
one  race  out  of  another,  one  language  out  of  another.  The 
evidence  was  beginning  to  be  cumulative  that  the  present  is 
the  child  of  the  past,  and  that  the  living  creatures  which 
we  see  about  us  have  been  evolved,  being  descendants  of 
ancestral  forms  on  the  whole  simpler;  that  those  ancestors 
were  descended  from  still  simpler  forms,  and  so  on  backward. 
What  was  needed  in  1857  was  some  well-grounded,  intelli- 
gible explanation  of  the  variation  of  species.  This  explana- 
tion came  in  1859  in  the  publication  of  Charles  Darwin's 
epoch-making  book,  The  Oiigin  of  Species  by  Means  of 
Natural  Selection.  Darwin  showed  that  in  natural  selection, 
or  what  has  also  been  called  "the  survival  of  the  fittest,"  is 
found  a  natural  process  which  results  in  the  preservation  of 
favorable  variations.  This  process  leads  to  the  modification 
of  each  creature  in  relation  to  its  organic  conditions  of  life, 
and  in  most  cases'  the  change  may  be  regarded  as  an  advance 
in  organization.  "Darwinism"  is  not  to  be  confused  with 
"evolution."  Darwin's  name  has  been  given  to  one  particular 
interpretation  of  the  process  of  evolution.  The  actual  fact 
of  development  is  proved  from  so  many  converging  lines  that 
there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  fact  itself,  although  the  future 
growth  of  our  ideas  may  largely  modify  the  explanation  that 
Darwin  has  given  of  it. 

Perhaps  no  single  work  has  produced  so  great  an  impression 
upon  the  spirit  of  any  age  as  has  Darwin's  memorable  book 
upon  the  intellectual  life  of  Europe  and  America.  The  book 
became  at  first  the  centre  of  a  fierce  intellectual  discussion. 
Scientific  men  themselves  were  divided  in  their  estimate  of 
its  importance  and  its  soundness.  In  Boston,  before  the 
American  Academy  of  Science  and  Arts,  there  went  on  during 
the  winter  of  1859  and  i860  one  of  the  most  spirited  scientific 
debates  which  our  country  has  ever  known,  between  Professor 


SCIENCE  205 

Louis  Agassiz  in  opposition  to  Darwin's  theory  and  Professor 
William  A.  Rogers  in  favor  of  it.  Both  were  eloquent  men, 
both  were  eminent  in  science,  and  perhaps  no  series  of  dis- 
cussions before  a  scientific  body  has  been  more  interesting 
than  those  which  these  two  great  men  carried  on  at  this  time. 

The  outcome  of  the  work  of  Darwin  and  his  successors 
has  been  the  practical  acceptance  by  civilized  men  of  the 
general  theory  of  evolution,  however  they  may  differ  about 
the  process  itself.  While  the  work  of  the  scientific  men  who 
have  built  up  the  doctrine  of  evolution,  which  to-day  stands 
more  firmly  than  ever  as  a  reasonable  interpretation  of  organic 
nature,  was  a  scientific  one  and  had  nothing  to  do  with  ulti- 
mate problems,  nevertheless  it  was  inevitable  that  such  a 
theory  should  excite  the  strongest  opposition  on  the  part 
of  the  theology  of  that  day.  The  acrimony  of  that  discussion 
has  long  since  worn  away.  Men  have  had  in  fifty  years  a 
breathing  time  suflEicient  to  see  that  however  opposed  such  an 
explanation  of  nature  may  be  to  the  then  accepted  orthodox 
theory  of  creation,  neither  one  nor  the  other  was  necessarily 
connected  with  true  religious  life.  To-day,  in  one  form  or 
another,  nearly  all  educated  men  accept  the  general  theory  of 
evolution  as  the  process  by  which  the  universe  has  been 
developed. 

The  chief  effect,  however,  of  the  advance  of  science  during 
these  fifty  years  upon  religious  belief  and  the  philosophy  of 
life  has  come,  not  so  much  from  the  acceptance  of  the  theory 
of  evolution,  or  the  conservation  of  energy,  or  other  scientific 
deductions,  but  rather  from  the  development  of  what  is  com- 
monly called  "the  scientific  spirit."  To-day  a  thousand  men 
are  working  in  the  investigations  of  science  where  ten  were 
working  fifty  years  ago.  These  men  form  a  far  larger  pro- 
portion of  the  whole  community  of  intelligent  men  than  they 
did  a  half-century  ago,  and  their  influence  upon  the  thought 
of  the  race  is  greatly  increased.  They  have  been  trained  in 
a  generation  taught  to  question  all  processes,   to  hold  fast 


2o6  HENRY  S.   PRITCHETT 

only  to  those  things  that  will  bear  proof,  and  to  seek  for  the 
truth  as  the  one  thing  worth  having.  It  is  this  attitude  of 
mind  which  makes  the  scientific  spirit,  and  it  is  the  widespread 
dissemination  of  this  spirit  which  has  affected  the  attitude 
of  the  great  mass  of  civilized  men  toward  formal  theology 
and  toward  a  general  philosophy  of  life.  The  ability  to  believe, 
and  even  the  disposition  to  believe,  is  one  of  the  oldest  acquire- 
ments of  the  human  mind.  On  the  other  hand,  the  capacity 
for  estimating  evidence  in  cases  of  physical  causation  has 
been  a  recent  acquisition.  The  last  fifty  years  has  added 
enormously  to  the  power  of  the  race  in  this  capacity,  and  in 
the  consequent  demand  on  the  part  of  all  men  for  trustworthy 
evidence,  not  only  in  the  case  of  physical  phenomena,  but  in 
all  other  matters.  This  spirit  is  to-day  the  dominant  note  of 
the  twentieth  century.  It  is  a  serious  spirit  and  a  reverent 
one,  but  it  demands  to  know,  and  it  will  be  satisfied  with  no 
answer  which  does  not  squarely  face  the  facts.  This  intel- 
lectual gain  is  the  most  note-worthy  fruitage  of  the  last  fifty 
years  of  science  and  of  scientific  freedom. 

A  direct  outcome  of  this  development  of  scientific  spirit 
has  been  the  growth  of  what  has  come  to  be  called  the  higher 
criticism.  The  higher  criticism  is  a  science  whose  aim  is  the 
determination  of  the  Uterary  history  of  books  and  writings, 
including  inquiries  into  the  literary  form,  the  unity,  the  date 
of  publication,  the  authorship,  the  method  of  composition, 
the  integrity  and  amount  of  care  shown  in  any  subsequent 
editing,  and  into  other  matters,  such  as  may  be  discovered 
by  the  use  of  the  internal  evidence  presented  in  the  writing 
itself.  It  is  termed  the  higher  criticism  to  distinguish  it 
from  the  related  science  of  lower,  or  textual,  criticism.  This 
science  is  almost  wholly  a  child  of  the  last  half-century,  and 
in  particular  is  this  true  so  far  as  Biblical  study  and  criticism 
are  concerned.  The  development  of  this  school  of  study 
along  scientific  lines  has,  in  connection  with  the  wide  spread 
of  the  scientific  spirit  itself,  had  an  enormous  effect  on  the 


SCIENCE  207 

attitude  of  civilized  man  toward  formal  theology  and  toward 
formal  religious  organizations. 

What  the  outcome  of  this  intellectual  development  will  be, 
whether  it  will  result  in  a  change  of  the  organizations  them- 
selves or  the  evolution  of  new  organizations  for  religious  teach- 
ing along  other  lines  than  those  which  now  exist,  no  one  to-day 
can  say.  Of  this  much,  however,  we  may  be  fairly  sure:  that 
although  the  work  of  the  evolutionists  and  the  higher  critics 
may  have  affected  formal  theology,  there  is  no  reason  for 
belief  that  the  innate  religious  spirit  of  mankind  has  been 
weakened.  True  religion  is  a  life,  not  a  belief;  and  the  re- 
ligious life  of  the  twentieth  century  promises  to  be  as  deep 
and  genuine,  and  perhaps  more  satisfactory,  than  that  of  the 
century  before.  To-day  the  figure  of  Jesus  Christ  looms 
larger  to  the  world  than  it  did  fifty  years  ago,  and  partly  for 
the  reason  that  his  life  and  work  are  being  studied  apart 
from  formal  theology  and  independently  of  formal  religious 
organizations. 

The  general  effect  of  the  whole  evolutionary  development  of 
the  last  fifty  years  upon  the  philosophy  of  life  of  civilized 
man  has  been  a  hopeful  one.  The  old  theology  pointed  man 
to  a  race  history  in  which  he  was  represented  as  having  fallen 
from  a  high  estate  to  a  low  one.  The  philosophy  of  evolution 
encourages  him  to  believe  that,  notwithstanding  the  limita- 
tions which  come  from  a  brute  ancestry,  his  course  has  been 
upward,  and  he  looks  forward  to-day  hopefully  and  confidently 
to  a  like  development  in  the  future. 

One  who  looks  over  this  half-century  of  development  of 
science  cannot  but  feel  something  of  this  hopefulness  as  he 
looks  forward  to  the  half-century  just  begun.  So  little  do 
we  know  of  nature  and  of  nature's  laws,  so  large  is  their  intent 
in  comparison,  that  we  may  confidently  expect  the  discoveries 
of  the  next  half-century  to  more  than  equal  those  of  the  half- 
century  just  passed.  The  applications  of  chemistry  and  of 
physics  arc  now  being  pushed  by  thousands  of  men  better 


2o8  HENRY  S.   PRITCHETT 

trained  for  research  than  in  any  generation  which  preceded. 
Organized  effort  in  scientific  research  is  begun;  transporta- 
tion, already  so  highly  developed,  will  become  still  more  con- 
venient. Preventive  medicine  may  well  be  expected  to  make 
enormous  strides  in  the  struggle  with  the  great  plagues  of 
mankind.  The  whole  scale  of  human  living,  so  far  as  comfort 
and  convenience  are  concerned,  we  may  confidently  expect 
to  improve  as  rapidly  as  it  has  in  the  fifty  years  gone  by. 
The  house  of  1950  will  be  as  much  superior  in  comfort  and 
convenience  to  our  homes  of  to-day  as  these  are  to  those  of  a 
half-century  ago. 

Finally,  we  may  be  sure  that  during  the  next  fifty  years, 
as  during  the  past,  that  question  which  will  most  interest 
man  is  the  old  one.  What  is  life,  and  how  came  it  to  be?  This 
question  has  not  yet  been  answered  by  any  fruitful  hypothesis 
like  those  of  Darwin  or  Lamarck,  which  have  been  such  effect- 
ive tools  in  the  hands  of  investigators.  In  the  aid  of  the 
solution  of  this  problem  all  scientific  men  are  working,  either 
consciously  or  unconsciously.  Much  of  what  they  do  seems 
trivial  and  dry  in  the  eyes  of  those  who  are  occupied  with 
other  thoughts.  The  man  who  is  engaged  in  accumulating 
a  million  dollars  may  not  easily  understand  how  a  student 
will  toil  patiently  in  a  laboratory,  laboriously  gathering  to- 
gether minute  data,  in  order  that  the  generalizers  of  science 
may  go  a  step  farther  in  the  solution  of  the  problem.  To-day 
the  world  stands  firmly  convinced  of  the  universal  force  of  the 
principle  of  evolution,  and  on  the  other  hand  looks  forward 
to  the  realization  of  independent  life  and  action  in  the  separate 
cell.  Whether  in  the  next  half-century  science  may  be  able 
to  vanquish  the  difficulty  presented  by  the  atom  of  living 
potential  protoplasm,  the  cell,  we  cannot  say,  but  we  may 
feel  sure  that  great  steps  toward  its  solution  will  be  made, 
and  that  these  steps  will  be  taken  in  the  service  of  the  truth 
for  the  truth's  sake,  which  is  the  watchword  of  the  science 
of  to-day. 


CONSERVATION   OF   NATIONAL   RESOURCES  ' 
Theodore  Roosevelt 

Governors  of  the  Several  States  and  Gentlemen: 

I  WELCOME  you  to  this  conference  at  the  White  House. 
You  have  come  hither  at  my  request  so  that  we  may  join 
together  to  consider  the  question  of  the  conservation  and 
use  of  the  great  fundamental  sources  of  wealth  of  this  nation. 
So  vital  is  this  question  that  for  the  first  time  in  our  history 
the  chief  executive  officers  of  the  states  separately  and  of 
the  states  together  forming  the  nation  have  met  to  consider  it. 

With  the  Governors  come  men  from  each  state  chosen  for 
their  special  acquaintance  with  the  terms  of  the  problem  that 
is  before  us.  Among  them  are  experts  in  natural  resources 
and  representatives  of  national  organizations  concerned  in 
the  development  and  use  of  these  resources;  the  Senators 
and  Representatives  in  Congress;  the  Supreme  Court,  the 
Cabinet  and  the  Inland  Waterways  Commission  have  like- 
wise been  invited  to  the  conference,  which  is  therefore  national 
in  a  peculiar  sense. 

This  conference  on  the  conservation  of  natural  resources 
is  in  effect  a  meetin,';  of  the  representatives  of  all  the  people 
of  the  United  States  called  to  consider  the  weightiest  problem 
now  before  the  nation,  and  the  occasion  for  the  meeting  lies 
in  the  fact  that  the  natural  resources  of  our  country  are  in 
danger  of  exhaustion  if  we  permit  the  old  wasteful  methods 
of  exploiting  them  longer  to  continue. 

With  the  rise  of  peoples  from  savagery  to  civilization, 
and  with  the  consequent  growth  in   the  extent  and  variety 

'  Address  to  the  Congress  of  Governors  on  the  Conservation  of  National 
Resources,  Washington,  May  13,  1908. 


2IO  THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 

of  the  needs  of  the  average  man,  there  comes  a  steadily  in- 
creasing growth  of  the  amount  demanded  by  this  average 
man  from  the  actual  resources  of  the  country.  Yet,  rather 
curiously,  at  the  same  time  the  average  man  is  likely  to  lose 
his  realization  of  this  dependence  upon  nature. 

Savages,  and  very  primitive  peoples  generally,  concern 
themselves  only  with  superficial  natural  resources;  with 
those  which  they  obtain  from  the  actual  surface  of  the  ground. 
As  peoples  become  a  little  less  primitive  their  industries, 
although  in  a  rude  manner,  are  extended  to  resources  below 
the  surface;  then,  with  what  we  call  civilization  and  the 
extension  of  knowledge,  more  resources  come  into  use,  in- 
dustries are  multiplied  and  foresight  begins  to  become  a 
necessary  and  prominent  factor  in  life.  Crops  are  cultivated, 
animals  are  domesticated  and  metals  are  mastered. 

Every  step  of  the  progress  of  mankind  is  marked  by  the 
discovery  and  use  of  natural  resources  previously  unused. 
Without  such  progressive  knowledge  and  utilization  of  natural 
resources  population  could  not  grow,  nor  industries  multiply, 
nor  the  hidden  wealth  of  the  earth  be  developed  for  the  benefit 
of  mankind. 

From  the  first  beginnings  of  civilization,  on  the  banks  of 
the  Nile  and  the  Euphrates,  the  industrial  progress  of  the 
world  has  gone  on  slowly,  with  occasional  setbacks,  but  on 
the  whole  steadily,  through  tens  of  centuries  to  the  present 
day.  But  of  late  the  rapidity  of  the  progress  has  increased 
at  such  a  rate  that  more  space  has  been  actually  covered  dur- 
ing the  century  and  a  quarter  occupied  by  our  national  life 
than  during  the  preceding  six  thousand  years  that  take  us 
back  to  the  earliest  monuments  of  Egypt,  to  the  earliest  cities 
of  the  Babylonian  plain. 

When  the  founders  of  this  nation  met  at  Independence 
Hall  in  Philadelphia  the  conditions  of  commerce  had  not 
fundamentally  changed  from  what  they  were  when  the  Phoeni- 
cian keels  first  furrowed  the  lonely  waters  of  the  Mediterranean. 


CONSERVATION  OF  NATIONAL  RESOURCES     211 

The  differences  were  those  of  degree,  not  of  kind,  and  they 
were  not  in  all  cases  even  those  of  degree.  Mining  was 
carried  on  fundamentally  as  it  had  been  carried  on  by  the 
Pharaohs  in  the  countries  adjacent  to  the  Red  Sea. 

The  wares  of  the  merchants  of  Boston,  of  Charleston,  like 
the  wares  of  the  merchants  of  Nineveh  and  Sidon,  if  they 
went  by  water  were  carried  by  boats  propelled  by  sails  or 
oars;  if  they  went  by  land  were  carried  in  wagons  drawn  by 
beasts  of  draft  or  in  packs  on  the  backs  of  beasts  of  burden. 
The  ships  that  crossed  the  high  seas  were  better  than  the 
ships  that  had  once  crossed  the  ^gean,  but  they  were  of  the 
same  type,  after  all  —  they  were  wooden  ships  propelled  by 
sails;  and  on  land  the  roads  were  not  as  good  as  the  roads  of 
the  Roman  Empire,  while  the  service  of  the  posts  was  prob- 
ably inferior. 

In  Washington's  time  anthracite  coal  was  known  only  as 
a  useless  black  stone;  and  the  great  fields  of  bituminous  coal 
were  undiscovered.  As  steam  was  unknown,  the  use  of  coal 
for  power  production  was  undreamed  of.  Water  was  practi- 
cally the  only  source  of  power,  save  the  labor  of  men  and 
animals;  and  this  power  was  used  only  in  the  most  primitive 
fashion.  But  a  few  small  iron  deposits  had  been  found  in 
this  country,  and  the  use  of  iron  by  our  countrymen  was 
very  small.  Wood  was  practically  the  only  fuel,  and  what 
lumber  was  sawed  was  consumed  locally,  while  the  forests 
were  regarded  chiefly  as  obstructions  to  settlement  and 
cultivation. 

Such  was  the  degree  of  progress  to  which  civilized  mankind 
had  attained  when  this  nation  began  its  career.  It  is  almost 
impossible  for  us  in  this  day  to  realize  how  little  our  Revolu- 
tionary ancestors  knew  of  the  great  store  of  natural  resources 
whose  discovery  and  use  have  been  such  vital  factors  in  the 
growth  and  greatness  of  this  nation,  and  how  little  they 
required  to  take  from  this  store  in  order  to  satisfy  their  needs. 

Since  then  our  knowledge  and  use  of  the  resources  of  the 


212  THEODORE   ROOSEVELT 

present  territory  of  the  United  States  have  increased  a  hun- 
dredfold. Indeed,  the  growth  of  this  nation  by  leaps  and 
bounds  makes  one  of  the  most  striking  and  important  chapters 
in  the  history  of  the  world.  Its  growth  has  been  due  to  the 
rapid  development,  and,  alas!  that  it  should  be  said,  to  the 
rapid  destruction,  of  our  natural  resources.  Nature  has 
supplied  to  us  in  the  United  States,  and  still  supplies  to  us, 
more  kinds  of  resources  in  a  more  lavish  degree  than  has  ever 
been  the  case  at  any  other  time  or  with  any  other  people. 
Our  position  in  the  world  has  been  attained  by  the  extent  and 
thoroughness  of  the  control  we  have  achieved  over  Nature; 
but  we  are  more,  and  not  less,  dependent  upon  what  she 
furnishes  than  at  any  previous  time  of  history  since  the  days 
of  primitive  man. 

Yet  our  fathers,  though  they  knew  so  little  of  the  resources 
of  the  country,  exercised  a  wise  forethought  in  reference 
thereto.  Washington  clearly  saw  that  the  perpetuity  of  the 
states  could  only  be  secured  by  union  and  that  the  only 
feasible  basis  of  union  was  an  economic  one;  in  other  words, 
that  it  must  be  based  on  the  development  and  use  of  their 
natural  resources.  Accordingly,  he  helped  to  outline  a  scheme 
of  commercial  development,  and  by  his  influence  an  inter- 
state waterways  commission  was  appointed  by  Virginia  and 
Maryland. 

It  met  near  where  we  are  now  meeting,  in  Alexandria, 
adjourned  to  Mount  Vernon,  and  took  up  the  consideration 
of  interstate  commerce  by  the  only  means  then  available, 
that  of  water.  Further  conferences  were  arranged,  first  at 
Annapolis  and  then  at  Philadelphia.  It  was  in  Philadelphia 
that  the  representatives  of  all  the  states  met  for  what  was  in 
its  original  conception  merely  a  waterways  conference;  but 
when  they  had  closed  their  deliberations  the  outcome  was 
the  Constitution  which  made  the  states  into  a  nation. 

The  Constitution  of  the  United  States  thus  grew  in  large 
part  out  of  the  necessity  for  united  action  in  the  wise  use  of 


CONSERVATION  OF  NATIONAL  RESOURCES     213 

one  of  our  natural  resources.  The  wise  use  of  all  of  our 
natural  resources,  which  are  our  national  resources  as  well, 
is  the  great  material  question  of  to-day.  I  have  asked  you 
to  come  together  now  because  the  enormous  consumption  of 
these  resources,  and  the  threat  of  imminent  exhaustion  of  some 
of  them,  due  to  reckless  and  wasteful  use,  once  more  call  for 
common  effort,  common  action. 

Since  the  days  when  the  Constitution  was  adopted,  steam 
and  electricity  have  revolutionized  the  industrial  world. 
Nowhere  has  the  revolution  been  so  great  as  in  our  own 
country.  The  discovery  and  utilization  of  mineral  fuels  and 
alloys  have  given  us  the  lead  over  all  other  nations  in  the 
production  of  steel.  The  discovery  and  utilization  of  coal 
and  iron  have  given  us  our  railways,  and  have  led  to  such 
industrial  development  as  has  never  before  been  seen.  The 
vast  wealth  of  lumber  in  our  forests,  the  riches  of  our  soils 
and  mines,  the  discovery  of  gold  and  mineral  oils,  combined 
with  the  efficiency  of  our  transportation,  have  made  the 
conditions  of  our  life  unparalleled  in  comfort  and  convenience. 

The  steadily  increasing  drain  on  these  natural  resources 
has  promoted  to  an  extraordinary  degree  the  complexity  of 
our  industrial  and  social  life.  Moreover,  this  unexampled 
development  has  had  a  determining  effect  upon  the  character 
and  opinions  of  our  people.  The  demand  for  efficiency  in 
the  great  task  has  given  us  vigor,  effectiveness,  decision  and 
power,  and  a  capacity  for  achievement  which  in  its  own  lines 
has  never  yet  been  matched.  So  great  and  so  rapid  has  been 
our  material  growth  that  there  has  been  a  tendency  to  lag 
behind  in  spiritual  and  moral  growth;  but  that  is  not  the 
subject  upon  which  I  speak  to  you  to-day. 

Disregarding  for  the  moment  the  question  of  moral  pur- 
pose, it  is  safe  to  say  that  the  prosperity  of  our  people  depends 
directly  on  the  energy  and  intelligence  with  which  our  natural 
resources  are  used.  It  is  equally  clear  that  these  resources 
are  the  final  basis  of  national  power  and  perpetuity.     Finally, 


214  THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 

it  is  ominously  evident  that  these  resources  are  in  the  course 
of  rapid  exhaustion. 

This  nation  began  with  the  belief  that  its  landed  possessions 
were  illimitable  and  capable  of  supporting  all  the  people  who 
might  care  to  make  our  country  their  home;  but  already  the 
limit  of  unsettled  land  is  in  sight,  and  indeed  but  little  land 
fitted  for  agriculture  now  remains  unoccupied  save  what  can 
be  reclaimed  by  irrigation  and  drainage.  We  began  with  an 
unapproached  heritage  of  forests;  more  than  half  of  the 
timber  is  gone.  We  began  with  coal  fields  more  extensive 
than  those  of  any  other  nation  and  with  iron  ores  regarded  as 
inexhaustible,  and  many  experts  now  declare  that  the  end  of 
both  iron  and  coal  is  in  sight. 

The  mere  increase  in  our  consumption  of  coal  during  1907 
over  1906  exceeded  the  total  consumption  in  1876,  the  cen- 
tennial year.  The  enormous  stores  of  mineral  oil  and  gas  are 
largely  gone.  Our  natural  waterways  are  not  gone,  but  they 
have  been  so  injured  by  neglect  and  by  the  division  of  re- 
sponsibility and  utter  lack  of  system  in  dealing  with  them 
that  there  is  less  navigation  on  them  now  than  there  was 
fifty  years  ago.  Finally,  we  began  with  soils  of  unexampled 
fertility  and  we  have  so  impoverished  them  by  injudicious 
use  and  by  failing  to  check  erosion  that  their  crop-producing 
power  is  diminishing  instead  of  increasing.  In  a  word,  we 
have  thoughtlessly,  and  to  a  large  degree  unnecessarily, 
diminished  the  resources  upon  which  not  only  our  prosperity 
but  the  prosperity  of  our  children  must  always  depend. 

We  have  become  great  because  of  the  lavish  use  of  our 
resources,  and  we  have  just  reason  to  be  proud  of  our  growth. 
But  the  time  has  come  to  inquire  seriously  what  will  happen 
when  our  forests  are  gone,  when  the  coal,  the  iron,  the  oil  and 
the  gas  are  exhausted,  when  the  soils  shall  have  been  still 
further  impoverished  and  washed  into  the  streams,  polluting 
the  rivers,  denuding  the  fields  and  obstructing  navigation. 
These  questions  do  not  relate  only  to  the  next  century  or  to 


CONSERVATION  OF  NATIONAL  RESOURCES     215 

the  next  generation.  It  is  time  for  us  now  as  a  nation  to  exer- 
cise the  same  reasonable  foresight  in  dealing  with  our  great 
natural  resources  that  would  be  shown  by  any  prudent  man 
in  conserving  and  wisely  using  the  property  which  contains 
the  assurance  of  well-being  for  himself  and  his  children. 

The  natural  resources  I  have  enumerated  can  be  divided 
into  two  sharply  distinguished  classes  accordingly  as  they 
are  or  are  not  capable  of  renewal.  Mines  if  used  must  neces- 
sarily be  exhausted.  The  minerals  do  not  and  can  not  renew 
themselves.  Therefore,  in  dealing  with  the  coal,  the  oil,  the 
gas,  the  iron,  the  metals  generally,  all  that  we  can  do  is  to 
try  to  see  that  they  are  wisely  used.  The  exhaustion  is  cer- 
tain to  come  in  time. 

The  second  class  of  resources  consists  of  those  which  can 
not  only  be  used  in  such  manner  as  to  leave  them  undimin- 
ished for  our  children,  but  can  actually  be  improved  by  wise 
use.  The  soil,  the  forests,  the  waterways,  come  in  this  cate- 
gory. In  dealing  with  mineral  resources,  man  is  able  to 
improve  on  nature  only  by  putting  the  resources  to  a  bene- 
ficial use,  which  in  the  end  exhausts  them;  but  in  dealing 
with  the  soil  and  its  products  man  can  improve  on  nature 
by  compelling  the  resources  to  renew  and  even  reconstruct 
themselves  in  such  manner  as  to  serve  increasingly  beneficial 
uses  —  while  the  living  waters  can  be  so  controlled  as  to 
multiply  their  benefits. 

Neither  the  primitive  man  nor  the  pioneer  was  aware  of 
any  duty  to  posterity  in  dealing  with  the  renewable  resources. 
When  the  American  settler  felled  the  forests  he  felt  that 
there  was  plenty  of  forest  left  for  the  sons  who  came  after 
him.  When  he  exhausted  the  soil  of  his  farm  he  felt  that  his 
son  could  go  West  and  take  up  another.  So  it  was  with  his 
immediate  successors.  When  the  soil  washed  from  the  farmer's 
fields  choked  the  neighboring  river  he  thought  only  of  using 
the  railway  rather  than  boats  for  moving  his  produce  and 
supplies. 


2i6  THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 

Now  all  this  is  changed.  On  the  average  the  son  of  the 
farmer  of  to-day  must  make  his  living  on  his  father's  farm. 
There  is  no  difficulty  in  doing  this  if  the  father  will  exercise 
wisdom.  No  wise  use  of  a  farm  exhausts  its  fertility.  So 
with  the  forests.  We  are  on  the  verge  of  a  timber  famine  in 
this  country,  and  it  is  unpardonable  for  the  nation  or  the 
states  to  permit  any  further  cutting  of  our  timber  save  in 
accordance  with  a  system  which  will  provide  that  the  next 
generation  shall  see  the  timber  increased  instead  of  diminished. 
Moreover,  we  can  add  enormous  tracts  of  the  most  valuable 
possible  agricultural  land  to  the  national  domain  by  irrigation 
in  the  arid  and  semi-arid  regions,  and  by  drainage  of  great 
tracts  of  swamp  land  in  the  humid  regions.  We  can  enor- 
mously increase  our  transportation  facilities  by  the  canaliza- 
tion of  our  rivers  so  as  to  complete  a  great  system  of  waterways 
on  the  Pacific,  Atlantic  and  Gulf  coasts  and  in  the  Mississippi 
Valley,  from  the  Great  Plains  to  the  Alleghenies  and  from 
the  northern  lakes  to  the  mouth  of  the  mighty  Father  of 
Waters.  But  all  these  various  uses  of  our  natural  resources 
are  so  closely  connected  that  they  should  be  co-ordinated, 
and  should  be  treated  as  part  of  one  coherent  plan  and  not  in 
haphazard  and  piecemeal  fashion. 

It  is  largely  because  of  this  that  I  appointed  the  Waterways 
Commission  last  year,  and  that  I  have  sought  to  perpetuate 
its  work.  I  wish  to  take  this  opportunity  to  express  in 
heartiest  fashion  my  acknowledgment  to  all  the  members  of 
the  commission.  At  great  personal  sacrifice  of  time  and 
effort  they  have  rendered  a  service  to  the  public  for  which 
we  cannot  be  too  grateful.  Especial  credit  is  due  to  the 
initiative,  the  energy,  the  devotion  to  duty  and  the  far- 
sightedness of  Gifford  Pinchot,  to  whom  we  owe  so  much  of 
the  progress  we  have  already  made  in  handling  this  matter  of 
the  coordination  and  conservation  of  natural  resources.  If 
it  had  not  been  for  him  this  convention  neither  would  nor 
could  have  been  called. 


CONSERVATION  OF  NATIONAL  RESOURCES   217 

We  are  coming  to  recognize  as  never  before  the  right  of 
the  nation  to  guard  its  own  future  in  the  essential  matter  of 
natural  resources.  In  the  past  we  have  admitted  the  right 
of  the  individual  to  injure  the  future  of  the  Republic  for  his 
own  present  profit.  The  time  has  come  for  a  change.  As  a 
people  we  have  the  right  and  the  duty,  second  to  none  other 
but  the  right  and  duty  of  obeying  the  moral  law,  of  requiring 
and  doing  justice,  to  protect  ourselves  and  our  children  against 
the  wasteful  development  of  our  natural  resources,  whether 
that  waste  is  caused  by  the  actual  destruction  of  such 
resources  or  by  making  them  impossible  of  development 
hereafter. 

Any  right-thinking  father  earnestly  desires  and  strives  to 
leave  his  son  both  an  untarnished  name  and  a  reasonable 
equipment  for  the  struggle  of  life.  So  this  nation  as  a  whole 
should  earnestly  desire  and  strive  to  leave  to  the  next  genera- 
tion the  national  honor  unstained  and  the  national  resources 
unexhausted.  There  are  signs  that  both  the  nation  and  the 
states  are  waking  to  a  realization  of  this  great  truth.  On 
March  10,  1908,  the  Supreme  Court  of  Maine  rendered  an 
exceedingly  important  judicial  decision.  This  opinion  was 
rendered  in  response  to  questions  as  to  the  right  of  the  Legis- 
lature to  restrict  the  cutting  of  trees  on  private  land  for  the 
prevention  of  drouths  and  floods,  the  preservation  of  the 
natural  water  supply  and  the  prevention  of  the  erosion  of  such 
lands  and  the  consequent  filling  up  of  rivers,  ponds  and  lakes. 
The  forests  and  water  power  of  Maine  constitute  the  larger 
part  of  her  wealth  and  form  the  basis  of  her  industrial  life, 
and  the  question  submitted  by  the  Maine  Senate  to  the 
Supreme  Court  and  the  answer  of  the  Supreme  Court  alike 
bear  testimony  to  the  wisdom  of  the  people  of  Maine  and 
clearly  define  a  policy  of  conservation  of  natural  resources 
the  adoption  of  which  is  of  vital  importance  not  merely  to 
Maine  but  to  the  whole  country. 

Such  a  policy  will  preserve  soil,  forests,  water  power  as  a 


2i8  THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 

heritage  for  the  children  and  the  children's  children  of  the 
men  and  women  of  this  generation;  for  any  enactment  that 
provides  for  the  wise  utilization  of  the  forests,  whether  in 
public  or  private  ownership,  and  for  the  conservation  of  the 
water  resources  of  the  country  must  necessarily  be  legislation 
that  will  promote  both  private  and  public  welfare;  for  flood 
prevention,  water  power  development,  preservation  of  the 
soil  and  improvement  of  navigable  rivers  are  all  promoted 
by  such  a  policy  of  forest  conservation. 

The  opinion  of  the  Maine  Supreme  bench  sets  forth  un- 
equivocally the  principle  that  the  property  rights  of  the 
individual  are  subordinate  to  the  rights  of  the  community, 
and  especially  that  the  waste  of  wild  timber  land  derived 
originally  from  the  state,  involving  as  it  would  the  impover- 
ishment of  the  state  and  its  people  and  thereby  defeating  one 
great  purpose  of  government,  may  properly  be  prevented 
by  state  restrictions. 

The  court  says  that  there  are  two  reasons  why  the  right 
of  the  public  to  control  and  limit  the  use  of  private  prop- 
erty is  peculiarly  appHcable  to  property  in  land:  "First, 
such  property  is  not  the  result  of  productive  labor,  but  is 
derived  solely  from  the  state  itself,  the  original  owner;  second, 
the  amount  of  land  being  incapable  of  increase,  if  the  owners 
of  large  tracts  can  waste  them  at  will  without  state  restric- 
tions, the  state  and  its  people  may  be  helplessly  impoverished 
and  one  great  purpose  of  government  defeated.  .  .  .  We  do 
not  think  the  proposed  legislation  would  operate  to  'take' 
private  property  within  the  inhibition  of  the  Constitution. 
While  it  might  restrict  the  owner  of  wild  and  uncultivated 
lands  in  his  use  of  them,  might  delay  his  taking  some  of  the 
product,  might  delay  his  anticipated  profits  and  even  thereby 
might  cause  him  some  loss  of  profit,  it  would  nevertheless 
leave  him  his  lands,  their  product  and  increase,  untouched, 
and  without  diminution  of  title,  estate  or  quantity.  He  would 
still  have  large  measure  of  control  and  large  opportunity  to 


CONSERVATION  OF  NATIONAL  RESOURCES   219 

realize  values.  He  might  suffer  delay —  but  not  deprivation. 
.  .  .  The  proposed  legislation  .  .  .  would  be  within  the 
legislative  power  and  would  not  operate  as  a  taking  of  private 
property  for  which  compensation  must  be  made." 

The  Court  of  Errors  and  Appeals  of  New  Jersey  has  adopted 
a  similar  view,  which  has  recently  been  sustained  by  the 
Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States.  In  delivering  the 
opinion  of  the  court  on  April  6,  1908,  Mr.  Justice  Holmes 
said:  "The  state  as  quasi-sovereign  and  representative  of 
the  interests  of  the  public  has  a  standing  in  court  to  protect 
the  atmosphere,  the  water  and  the  forests  within  its  territory, 
irrespective  of  the  assent  or  dissent  of  the  private  owners  of 
the  land  most  immediately  concerned.  ...  It  appears  to  us 
that  few  public  interests  are  more  obvious,  indisputable  and 
independent  of  particular  theory  than  the  interest  of  the 
public  of  a  state  to  maintain  the  rivers  that  are  wholly  within 
it  substantially  undiminished,  except  by  such  drafts  upon 
them  as  the  guardian  of  the  public  welfare  may  permit  for 
the  purpose  of  turning  them  to  a  more  perfect  use.  This 
public  interest  is  omnipresent  wherever  there  is  a  state,  and 
grows  more  pressing  as  population  grows.  .  .  .  We  are  of 
opinion,  further,  that  the  constitutional  power  of  the  state 
to  insist  that  its  natural  advantages  shall  remain  unimpaired 
by  its  citizens  is  not  dependent  upon  any  nice  estimate  of  the 
extent  of  present  use  or  speculation  as  to  future  needs.  The 
legal  conception  of  the  necessary  is  likely  to  be  confined  to 
somewhat  rudimentary  wants,  and  there  are  benefits  from  a 
great  river  that  might  escape  a  lawyer's  view.  But  the  state 
is  not  required  to  submit  even  to  an  aesthetic  analysis.  Any 
analysis  may  be  inadequate.  It  finds  itself  in  possession  of 
what  all  admit  to  be  a  great  public  good,  and  what  it  has  it 
may  keep  and  give  no  one  a  reason  for  its  will." 

These  decisions  reach  the  root  of  the  idea  of  conservation 
of  our  resources  in  the  interests  of  our  people. 

Finally,    let   us    remember   that    the    conservation   of   our 


220  THEODORE  ROOSEVELT 

natural  resources,  though  the  gravest  problem  of  to-day,  is 
yet  but  part  of  another  and  greater  problem  to  which  this 
nation  is  not  yet  awake,  but  to  which  it  will  awake  in  time, 
and  with  which  it  must  hereafter  grapple  if  it  is  to  live  —  the 
problem  of  national  efficiency,  the  patriotic  duty  of  insuring 
the  safety  and  continuance  of  the  nation.  When  the  people 
of  the  United  States  consciously  undertake  to  raise  them- 
selves as  citizens,  and  the  nation  and  the  states  in  their  several 
spheres,  to  the  highest  pitch  of  excellence  in  private,  state 
and  national  life,  and  to  do  this  because  it  is  the  first  of  all 
the  duties  of  true  patriotism,  then  and  not  till  then  the  future 
of  this  nation  in  quality  and  in  time  will  be  assured. 


HUXLEY  ^ 

Paul  Elmer  More 

In  a  world  that  is  governed  by  phrases  we  cannot  too  often 
recur  to  the  familiar  saying  of  Hobbes,  that  "words  are  wise 
men's  counters,  they  do  but  reckon  by  them;  but  they  are 
the  money  of  fools  " ;  and  so  to-day,  when  the  real  achievements 
of  science  have  thrown  a  kind  of  halo  about  the  word  and 
made  it  in  the  general  mind  synonymous  with  truth,  the  first 
duty  of  any  one  who  would  think  honestly  is  to  reach  a  clear 
definition  of  what  he  means  when  he  utters  the  sanctified 
syllables.  In  this  particular  case  the  duty  and  difficulty  are 
the  greater  because  the  word  conveys  three  quite  different 
meanings  which  have  correspondingly  different  values.  Posi- 
tive science  is  one  thing,  but  hypothetical  science  is  another 
thing,  and  philosophical  science  is  still  another;  yet  on  the 
popular  tongue,  nay,  even  in  the  writings  of  those  who  pretend 
to  extreme  precision,  these  distinctions  are  often  forgotten, 
to  the  utter  confusion  of  ideas. 

By  positive  science  I  mean  the  observation  and  classifica- 
tion of  facts  and  the  discovery  of  those  constant  sequences  in 
phenomena  which  can  be  expressed  in  mathematical  formulae 
or  in  the  generalized  language  of  law;  I  mean  that  procedure 
which  Huxley  had  in  mind  when  he  said  that  science  is  "noth- 
ing but  trained  and  organized  common  sense,  differing  from 
the  latter  only  as  a  veteran  may  differ  from  a  raw  recruit: 
and  its  methods  differ  from  those  of  common  sense  only  so 
far  as  the  guardsman's  cut  and  thrust  differ  from  the  manner 
in  which  a  savage  wields  his  club."  Now  for  such  a  proce- 
dure no  one  can  feel   anything  but   the   highest   respect  — 

1  From  The  Drift  of  Romanticism ;  copyright.  Reprinted  by  permis- 
sion of  the  author  and  of  Houghton  MifHin  Company. 


222  PAUL  ELMER  MORE 

respect  which  in  the  lay  mind  may  well  mount  to  admiration 
and  even  to  awe.  He  has  but  a  poor  imagination  who  cannot 
be  stirred  to  wonder  before  the  triumphs  over  material  forces 
gained  by  methods  of  which  he  can  confess  only  humble 
ignorance;  and  beyond  these  visible  achievements  lies  a 
whole  region  of  intellectual  activity  open  to  the  man  of  science, 
but  closed  and  forever  foreign  to  the  investigator  in  other 
kinds  of  ideas.  I  am  bound  to  insist  on  the  fact  that  I  have 
no  foolish  desire  to  belittle  the  honors  of  science  in  its  practi- 
cal applications,  and  that  I  can  in  a  way  estimate  its  rewards 
as  an  abstract  study,  however  far  the  full  fruition  of  the 
scientific  life  may  lie  beyond  my  reach. 

Positive  science,  thus  defined  as  that  trained  observation 
which  brings  the  vision  of  order  out  of  disorder,  system  out 
of  chaos,  law  out  of  chance,  might  seem  splendid  enough  in 
theory  and  useful  enough  in  practice  to  satisfy  the  most 
exorbitant  ambition.  But  it  must  be  remembered  that  a 
law  of  science,  however  wide  its  scope,  does  not  go  beyond  a 
statement  of  the  relation  of  observed  facts  and  tells  us  not 
a  word  of  what  lies  behind  this  relationship  or  of  the  cause 
of  these  facts.  Now  the  mind  of  man  is  so  constituted  that 
this  ignorance  of  causes  is  to  it  a  constant  source  of  irritation ; 
we  are  almost  resistlessly  tempted  to  pass  beyond  the  mere 
statement  of  law  to  erecting  a  theory  of  the  reality  that 
underlies  the  law.  Such  a  theory  is  an  hypothesis,  and  such 
activity  of  the  mind  is  hypothetical  science  as  distinguished 
from  positive  science.  But  we  must  distinguish  further. 
The  word  hypothesis  is  used,  by  the  man  of  science  as  well  as 
by  the  layman,  in  two  quite  different  senses.  On  the  one 
hand,  it  may  mean  the  attempt  to  express  in  language  bor- 
rowed from  our  sensuous  experience  the  nature  of  a  cause  or 
reality  which  transcends  such  experience.  Thus  the  luminif- 
erous  ether  is  properly  an  hypothesis:  by  its  very  definition  it 
transcends  the  reach  of  our  perceptive  faculties;  we  cannot 
see  it,  or  feel  it  in  any  way;    yet  it  is^  or  was,  assumed  to 


HUXLEY  223 

exist  as  the  cause  of  known  phenomena  and  its  properties 
were  given  in  terms  of  density,  elasticity,  etc.,  which  are 
appropriate  to  material  things  which  we  can  see  and  feel. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  word  hypothesis  is  often  taken  to 
signify  merely  a  scientific  law  which  belongs  to  the  realm  of 
positive  science,  but  which  is  still  to  be  established.  Confu- 
sion would  be  avoided  if  we  employed  the  term  scientific 
conjecture  for  this  second,  and  proper,  procedure,  and  con- 
fined the  use  of  the  term  hypothesis  to  the  former,  and  as  I 
think  improper,  procedure.  To  make  clear  these  distinctions 
let  me  give  an  illustration  or  two.  The  formula  of  gravitation 
merely  states  the  regularity  of  a  certain  group  of  known 
phenomena  from  the  motion  of  a  falling  apple  to  the  motion 
of  the  planets  about  the  sun.  When  this  formula  first  dawned 
on  the  mind  of  Newton,  it  was  a  scientific  conjecture;  when 
it  was  tested  and  proved  to  conform  to  facts,  it  became  an 
accepted  scientific  law.  Both  conjecture  and  accepted  law 
are  strictly  v/ithin  the  field  of  positive  science.  But  if  New- 
ton, not  content  with  generalizing  the  phenomena  of  gravita- 
tion in  the  form  of  a  law,  had  undertaken  to  theorize  on  the 
absolute  nature  of  the  attraction  which  caused  the  phenomena 
of  gravitation,^  he  would  have  passed  from  the  sphere  of 
positive  science  to  that  of  hypothetical  science.  So  when 
Darwin,  by  systematizing  the  vast  body  of  observations  in 
biology  and  geology,  showed  that  plants  and  animals  develop 
in  time  and  with  the  changes  of  the  earth  from  the  simplest 
forms  of  animate  existence  to  the  most  complex  forms  now 
seen,  and  thus  gave  precision  to  the  law  of  evolution,  he  was 
working  in  the  field  of  positive  science:  he  changed  what 
had  been  a  conjectured  law  to  a  generally  accepted  law. 
But  when  he  went  a  step  further  and  undertook  to  explain 
the  cause  of  this  evolution  by  the  theory  of  natural  selection 
or  the  survival  of  the  fit,  he  passed  from  positive  to  hypo- 
thetical science. 

1  On  this  point  comi)are  Berkeley,  Siris,  §§  245-250. 


224  PAUL   ELMER   MORE 

In  my  essay  on  Newman  I  found  it  convenient  to  classify 
the  minds  of  men  figuratively  in  an  inner  and  an  outer  group. 
In  the  outer  group  I  placed  the  two  extremes  of  the  mystic 
and  the  sceptic,  and  in  the  inner  group  the  non-mystical 
religious  mind  and  the  non-sceptical  scientific  mind.  These 
two  classes  of  the  inner  group  differ  in  their  field  of  interest, 
the  one  being  concerned  with  the  observation  of  spiritual 
states,  the  other  with  the  observation  of  material  phenomena; 
but  they  agree  in  so  far  as  the  former  passes  from  the  facts 
of  his  spiritual  consciousness  to  the  belief  in  certain  causes 
conceived  as  mythological  beings  and  known  by  revelation, 
while  the  latter  passes  from  the  facts  of  his  material  observa- 
tions to  the  belief  in  certain  causes  conceived  as  hypotheses 
and  known  by  inference.  Hypotheses,  in  other  words,  are 
merely  the  mythology,  the  deus  ex  machina,  of  science,  and 
they  are  eradicated  from  the  scientific  mind  only  by  the 
severest  discipline  of  scepticism,  just  as  mythology  is  eradi- 
cated from  the  religious  mind  by  genuine  mysticism.  I  am 
aware  of  the  danger  of  inculcating  such  an  eradication.  As 
for  most  men  to  take  away  the  belief  in  their  gods  as  known 
realities  would  be  to  put  an  end  to  their  religion,  so,  it  may 
be  objected,  to  take  away  these  hypotheses  would  be  to  en- 
danger the  very  foundations  of  science.  Yet,  even  if  scientific 
hypotheses,  in  consideration  of  human  frailty,  may  have 
their  use  just  as  mythologies  have  their  use,  I  still  protest 
that  they  are  not  necessary  to  scientific  discovery,  as  is  proved 
by  the  great  example  of  Newton.  I  believe,  though  my 
temerity  may  only  be  equalled  by  my  ignorance,  that  they 
have  oftener  introduced  confusion  into  pure  science  than 
they  have  aided  in  the  discovery  of  new  laws  or  in  the  broaden- 
ing of  known  laws;  and  I  am  confirmed  in  this  belief  by  the 
present  state  of  biology.  Darwin's  law  of  evolution  has  re- 
mained virtually  unshaken  and  has,  I  suppose,  been  the 
instigation  of  innumerable  discoveries;  but,  so  far  as  I  may 
judge   from    my   limited    reading   in    the   subject,    Darwin's 


HUXLEY  225 

hypothesis  of  natural  selection  and  the  survival  of  the  fit  has 
on  the  one  hand  been  seriously  and  widely  questioned  as  a 
cause  sufficient  to  account  for  evolution,  and  on  the  other 
hand  has  led  to  speculation  to  find  a  substitute  for  it  which 
in  wildness  of  theorizing  and  in  audacity  of  credulousness 
can  only  be  likened  to  the  intricacies  of  religious  scholasticism. 
The  condemnation  of  hypothetical  science  as  dangerous  to 
integrity  of  mind  is  no  new  thing.  Even  in  the  seventeenth 
century  Joseph  Glanvill  saw  how  surely  the  enthusiasm  en- 
gendered by  the  foundation  of  the  Royal  Society  would  lead 
to  vain  hypotheses.  In  his  Scepsis  Scientifica  he  sets  forth 
their  nature  and  forestalls  Hume's  destructive  analysis  of 
our  notion  of  causality,  with  strong  warning  that  the  man  of 
science  should  not  "build  the  Castle  of  his  intellectual  security, 
in  the  Air  of  Opinions.  .  .  .  Opinions  [he  adds,  meaning 
hypotheses]  are  the  Rattles  of  immature  intellects.  .  .  . 
Dogmatizing  is  the  great  disturber  both  of  our  selves  and  the 
world  without  us."  In  the  next  age  Bolingbroke,  in  his 
Essays  Addressed  to  Mr.  Pope,  argued  the  question  of  the 
limits  of  human  knowledge  and  the  fallacies  of  hypothetical 
theorizing  with  a  clearness  and  penetration  which  would 
have  made  that  work  one  of  the  bulwarks  of  English  philoso- 
phy, were  it  not  for  my  Lord's  disdain  of  the  rules  of  com- 
position and  the  tediousness  of  his  endless  repetitions,  and 
were  it  not  above  all  for  his  own  inconsistency  in  urging  the 
most  colossal  of  all  hypotheses,  that  of  universal  optimism. 
In  particular  he  takes  up,  more  than  once,  the  common  plea 
that  hypotheses  are  useful,  whether  true  or  not. 

It  will  be  urged,  perhaps,  as  decisive  in  favor  of  hypotheses  [he  observes], 
that  they  may  be  of  service,  and  can  be  of  no  disservice  to  us,  in  our  pur- 
suit of  knowledge.  An  hypothesis  founded  on  mere  arbitrary  assumptions 
will  be  a  true  hypothesis,  and  therefore  of  service  to  philosophy,  if  it  is  con- 
firmed by  many  observations  afterwards,  and  if  no  one  phenomenon  stand 
in  opposition  to  it.  An  hypothesis  that  appears  inconsistent  with  the 
phenomena  will  be  soon  demonstrated  false,  and  as  soon  rejected. 


226  PAUL  ELMER  MORE 

In  reply  he  shows  by  example  how  hypotheses  have  kept 
men  from  the  right  path  of  investigation  and  how  they  have 
been  maintained  (what  rich  and  even  ridiculous  examples  he 
might  have  produced  from  our  age)  after  they  have  been 
proved  inconsistent  with  facts  and  common  sense.  "The 
fautors  of  hypotheses  would  have  us  believe  that  even  the 
detection  of  their  falsehood  gives  occasion  to  our  improvement 
in  knowledge.  But  the  road  to  truth  does  not  lie  through 
the  precincts  of  error."  Now,  it  is  true  that  neither  Glanvill 
nor  Bolingbroke  distinguished  between  the  legitimate  use  of 
scientific  conjecture  and  the  illegitimate  use  of  hypotheses, 
but  they  had  chiefly  in  mind,  I  think,  not  the  mere  formulation 
of  law  but  the  attempt  to  penetrate  into  ultimate  causes. 

The  chief  fault  of  hypotheses,  however,  lies  not  in  the 
entanglement  of  pure  science  among  perilous  ways  and  in 
the  lifting  up  of  the  scientific  imagination  to  idolatrous  wor- 
ship, as  it  were,  of  the  chimccra  bombinans  in  vacuo,  but  in  the 
almost  irresistible  tendency  of  the  human  mind  to  glide  from 
hypothetical  science  into  what  I  have  called  philosophical 
science,  meaning  thereby  the  endeavor  to  formulate  a  philoso- 
phy of  life  out  of  scientific  law  and  hypothesis.  An  hypothesis 
may  be  proclaimed  by  the  man  of  science  as  a  purely  sub- 
jective formula  for  a  group  of  phenomena,  and  as  a  confessedly 
temporary  expedient  for  advancing  a  little  further  in  the 
process  of  bringing  our  observations  under  the  regularity  of 
law;  the  man  of  science  may  pretend  verbally  to  a  purely 
sceptical  attitude  towards  his  transcendental  definitions,  but 
in  practice  this  scepticism  almost  invariably  gives  way  to  a 
feeling  that  the  formula  for  causes  is  as  real  objectively  as  the 
law  of  phenomena  which  it  undertakes  to  explain,  and  to  a 
kind  of  supercilious  intolerance  for  those  who  maintain  the 
sceptical  attitude  practically  as  well  as  verbally,  or  for  those 
who  build  their  faith  on  hypotheses  of  another  sort  than  his 
own.  Hence  the  hostility  that  has  constantly  existed  be- 
tween those  who  base  their  philosophy  of  life  on  intuition  and 


HUXLEY  227 

the  humanities  and  those  who  base  it  upon  scientific  law  and 
hypothesis.  At  the  very  beginning  of  the  modern  scientific 
movement  this  antagonism  made  itself  felt,  and,  as  religion 
had  then  the  stronger  position  in  society,  took  the  form  of 
apologetics  on  the  part  of  science.  In  what  may  be  called 
the  authorized  History  of  the  Royal  Society,  Bishop  Sprat 
undertook  to  allay  the  suspicions  that  had  immediately  arisen 
against  the  chartered  organization  of  experimental  science. 
With  specious  sophistry  he  argued  that  the  "new  philosophy" 
would  never  encroach  on  the  established  system  of  education 
in  the  humanities.  He  admitted  the  natural  alliance  between 
science  and  industry  against  the  feudal  form  of  government, 
but  asserted  that  science  in  this  was  only  a  handmaid  of  the 
times. 

Nor  ought  our  Gentry  [he  declares]  to  be  averse  from  the  promoting  of 
Trade,  out  of  any  little  Jealousy,  that  thereby  they  shall  debase  themselves, 
and  corrupt  their  Blood:  For  they  are  to  know,  that  Trafick  and  Commerce 
have  given  Mankind  a  higher  Degree  than  any  Title  of  Nobility,  even 
that  of  Civility  and  Humanity  itself.  And  at  this  time  especially  above 
all  others,  they  have  no  reason  to  despise  Trade  as  below  them,  when  it  has 
so  great  an  influence  on  the  very  Government  of  the  World.  In  former  Ages 
indeed  this  was  not  so  remarkable. 

Primarily,  however,  Sprat,  as  a  prelate  in  good  standing, 
contended  that  religion  stood  in  no  danger  from  the  deductions 
of  the  new  philosophy: 

I  do  here,  in  the  beginning,  most  sincerely  declare,  that  if  this  Design 
[of  the  Royal  Society]  should  in  the  least  diminish  the  Reverence,  that  is 
due  to  the  Doctrine  of  Jesus  Christ,  it  were  so  far  from  deserving  Protec- 
tion, that  it  ought  to  be  abhorr'd  by  all  the  Politic  and  Prudent;  as  well 
as  by  the  devout  Part  of  Christendom.  .  .  .  With  these  Apprehensions 
I  come  to  examine  the  Objections,  which  I  am  now  to  satisfy:  and  having 
calmly  compar'd  the  Arguments  of  some  devout  Men  against  Knowledge, 
and  chiefly  that  of  Experiments;  I  must  pronounce  them  both,  to  be  alto- 
gether inoffensive.  I  did  before  affirm,  that  the  Royal  Society  is  abundantly 
cautious,  not  to  intermeddle  in  Spiritual  Things.  ...  So  true  is  that  Say- 
ing of  my  Lord  Bacon,  That  by  a  little  Knowledge  of  Nature  Men  become 
Atheists;   but  a  great  deal  returns  them  back  again  to  a  sound  and  religious 


228  PAUL    ELMER    MORE 

Mind.  In  brief,  if  we  rightly  apprehend  the  Matter,  it  will  be  found  that 
it  is  not  only  Sottishness,  but  Prophaneness,  for  Men  to  cry  out  against  the 
understanding  of  Nature;  for  that  being  nothing  else  but  the  Instrument 
of  God,  whereby  he  gives  Being  and  Action  to  Things:  the  Knowledge  of 
it  deserves  so  little  to  be  esteem'd  impious,  that  it  ought  rather  to  be  reckon'd 
as  Divine. 

It  may  seem  a  little  illogical  in  the  good  Bishop  first  to 
apologize  for  science  as  having  no  finger  in  Spiritual  Things 
and  then  to  exalt  it  as  a  bulwark  against  atheism,  but  such  an 
inconsistency  is  very  human,  and  it  is  an  example  of  the 
almost  irresistible  tendency  of  the  mind  to  use  its  own  specific 
form  of  knowledge  as  a  criterion  of  all  knowledge.  The 
vacillation  between  apology  and  presumption  introduced  by 
the  historian  of  the  Royal  Society  has  persisted  to  this  day, 
and  in  essay  after  essay  of  Huxley's  you  will  find  the  modern 
president  of  the  Society  maintaining  on  one  page  the  self- 
limitations  of  positive  science  and  on  another  page  passing 
from  hypothesis  to  a  dogmatic  philosophy,  here  rebuking 
those  who  confound  the  domains  of  scientific  and  spiritual 
law  and  there  proclaiming  science  as  a  support  of  what  he 
deems  true  religion.  Much  that  he  wrote  was  directed  to 
temporary  questions,  and  to  open  his  volumes  may  seem  even 
now  to  breathe  the  dust  of  battles  fought  long  ago  and  rendered 
meaningless  by  the  advance  of  time;  but  in  reality,  though 
their  outer  form  may  change,  the  disputes  in  which  he  engaged 
have  not  yet  been  settled  as  he  so  fondly  believed  they  were, 
and  can  never  be  settled  unless  a  sullen  apathy  be  taken  for 
assent. 

Certainly  Huxley,  looking  back  from  his  quiet  retirement 
at  Eastbourne  over  his  long  and  belligerent  career,  might  be 
justified  in  thinking  that  victory  was  altogether  the  reward  of 
his  laborious  life.  He  had  had  no  other  regular  instruction 
than  what  he  received  for  a  couple  of  years  in  the  semi-public 
school  at  Ealing  of  which  his  father  was  assistant  master,  and 
what  he  gained  from  lectures  in  Sydenham  College,  London, 
and  at  Charing  Cross  Hospital.     In  1846,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 


HUXLEY 


229 


one,  he  was  appointed  surgeon  to  H.M.S.  Rattlesnake  which 
was  bound  for  a  long  surveying  cruise  in  the  Torres  Straits. 
After  four  years  in  the  Far  East  he  returned  to  England,  with 
a  large  experience  in  zoological  and  ethnological  work,  and 
with  no  immediate  prospects  of  advancement.  His  first 
experience  in  London  was  embittered  by  governmental  delays 
and  neglect,  but  in  185 1  he  was  elected  a  Fellow  of  the  Royal 
Society,  receiving  the  Gold  Medal  the  next  year,  and  in  1854 
he  was  appointed  professor  of  natural  history  at  the  School 
of  Mines.  After  that  honors  and  offers  came  to  him  in 
rapid  succession.  He  could  not  be  tempted  to  leave  London, 
where  he  felt  himself  at  the  centre  of  things,  but  in  1872  he 
accepted  the  position  of  Lord  Rector  of  Aberdeen  University, 
since  this  office  afforded  him  an  opportunity  of  exerting  an 
influence  on  national  education  without  giving  up  his  resi- 
dence in  the  capital.  In  1883  he  was  chosen  president  of  the 
Royal  Society,  and  in  1892,  in  lieu  of  a  title  which  he  would 
not  accept,  he  was  raised  to  the  Privy  Council.  It  is  not 
insignificant  of  his  position  in  England  that,  on  the  occasion 
of  kissing  hands  with  the  other  Councillors  at  Osborne,  when 
he  snatched  an  opportunity  for  obtaining  a  close  view  of  the 
Queen,  he  found  Her  Majesty's  eyes  fixed  upon  himself  with 
the  same  inquisitiveness. 

But  the  most  sensible  triumphs  were  no  doubt  those  that 
came  to  him  in  public  as  the  recognized  spokesman  of  the 
new  philosophy,  and  of  these,  two  of  a  personal  sort,  gained 
at  Oxford,  the  very  citadel  of  the  forces  leagued  against  him, 
must  have  been  peculiarly  sweet.  Every  one  knows  of  his 
famous  tilt  with  Wilberforce  at  the  meeting  of  the  British 
Association  at  Oxford  in  i860.  It  was  just  after  the  publica- 
tion of  The  Origin  of  Species,  and  the  Bishop  of  Oxford  thought 
it  a  proper  occasion  to  demolish  the  rising  heresy  with  argu- 
ment and  ridicule.  The  lecture-room  was  crowded,  the 
clergy  being  massed  in  the  centre  of  the  audience,  and  the 
very    windows    being    packed    with    ladies    who    encouraged 


230  PAUL  ELMER  MORE 

the  champion  of  religion  with  their  fluttering  handkerchiefs. 
The  Bishop  spoke  for  an  hour,  assuring  his  hearers  that  there 
was  nothing  in  the  idea  of  evolution,  and  then,  turning  "with 
a  smiling  insolence"  to  Huxley  who  was  sitting  on  the  plat- 
form, "begged  to  know,  was  it  through  his  grandfather  or  his 
grandmother  that  he  claimed  his  descent  from  a  monkey." 
At  this  Huxley  is  said  to  have  struck  his  hand  upon  his  knee, 
and  to  have  exclaimed  to  his  neighbor,  "The  Lord  hath 
delivered  him  into  mine  hands."  Then,  as  the  event  was 
described  in  Alacmillan^s  Magazine,  he  "slowly  and  deliber- 
ately arose.  A  slight,  tall  figure,  stern  and  pale,  very  quiet 
and  very  grave,  he  stood  before  us  and  spoke  those  tremendous 
words  —  words  which  no  one  seems  sure  of  now,  nor,  I  think, 
could  remember  just  after  they  were  spoken,  for  their  meaning 
took  away  our  breath,  though  it  left  us  in  no  doubt  as  to 
what  it  was."  According  to  Huxley's  son  and  biographer 
the  most  accurate  report  of  the  concluding  words  is  in  a  letter 
of  John  Richard  Green: 

I  asserted  —  and  I  repeat  —  that  a  man  has  no  reason  to  be  ashamed 
of  having  an  ape  for  his  grandfather.  If  there  were  an  ancestor  whom  I 
should  feel  shame  in  recalling  it  would  rather  be  a  man  —  a  man  of  restless 
and  versatile  intellect  —  who,  not  content  with  an  equivocal  success  in 
his  own  sphere  of  activity,  plunges  into  scientific  questions  with  which  he 
has  no  real  acquaintance,  only  to  obscure  them  by  an  aimless  rhetoric,  and 
distract  the  attention  of  his  hearers  from  the  real  point  at  issue  by  eloquent 
digressions  and  skilled  appeals  to  religious  prejudice. 

Again,  at  another  meeting  of  the  British  Association  at 
Oxford,  in  1894,  Huxley  appeared  as  a  champion  of  Dar- 
winism against  the  insinuations  of  Lord  Salisbury,  who,  in 
his  speech  as  president,  spoke  with  delicate  irony  "of  the 
'comforting  word,  evolution,'  and,  passing  to  the  Weisman- 
nian  controversy,  implied  that  the  diametrically  opposed 
views  so  frequently  expressed  nowadays  threw  the  whole 
process   of   evolution    into    doubt."  ^     But    things    were   not 

^  Professor  H.  F.  Osborn  in  Transactions  of  the  N.  Y.  Acad.  Sci.,  vol.  xv. 


HUXLEY  231 

what  they  had  been.  The  ready  and  vociferous  applause 
was  for  the  prophet  of  Darwinism,  and  Huxley,  instead  of 
repelling  sarcasm  with  invective,  now  conscious  of  his  trium- 
phant position  and  of  the  courtesy  due  to  one  who  as  Prime 
Minister  had  only  two  years  before  honored  him  with  the 
Privy  Councillorship,  was  compelled  to  veil  "an  unmistak- 
able and  vigorous  protest  in  the  most  gracious  and  dignified 
speech  of  thanks."  It  was  his  last  public  appearance  on  any 
important  occasion,  a  proper  and  almost  majestic  conclusion 
to  his  long  warfare.  He  died  on  June  29  of  the  following 
year,  having  just  completed  his  threescore  and  ten.  By  his 
direction  three  lines  from  a  poem  by  his  wife  were  inscribed 
on  his  tomb-stone: 

Be  not  afraid,  ye  waiting  hearts  that  weep; 
For  still  He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep, 
And  if  an  endless  sleep  He  wills,  so  best. 

Better,  if  he  could  have  known  them,  would  have  been  the 
words  spoken  only  the  other  day  by  the  Vice-Chancellor  of 
Cambridge  at  the  great  dinner  given  at  the  university  on  the 
occasion  of  Darwin's  centenary: 

I  claim  as  a  theologian  —  and  I  see  representatives  of  law,  music,  and 
letters,  and  many  other  sciences  and  arts  present  —  that  only  one  spirit 
animates  us  all,  and  I  should  beg  that  we  might  be  included  in  the  term 
"naturalists." 

Now  to  Huxley  more  than  to  any  other  one  man  in  England 
is  due  this  victory,  seeming  to  some  so  complete  and  final; 
he  more  than  any  other  one  man  stood  in  the  nineteenth 
century  for  the  triple  power  of  positive  and  hypothetical 
science  and  of  philosophical  science  in  the  form  of  naturalism. 
Of  his  work  in  positive  science  I  am  incompetent  to  speak, 
but  I  can  at  least  say  that  it  was  important  enough  to  give 
him  honourable  standing  among  investigators  and  to  clothe 
his  popular  utterances  with  authority.  His  great  opportunity 
came  with  the  publication  of  The  Origin  of  Species  when  he 


232  PAUL  ELMER  MORE 

was  thirty-four  years  old,  and  for  the  remaining  thirty-six 
years  of  his  life  he  was  the  valiant  and  aggressive  champion 
of  evolution  and  the  Darwinian  hypothesis  against  all  comers, 
whether  they  were  mighty  men  of  the  Church  or  of  Parlia- 
ment. He  was,  so  to  speak,  the  Plato  to  the  Socrates  of  the 
new  philosophy,  applying  its  premises  to  every  department 
of  life.  His  power  in  this  field  was  conditioned  by  his  knowl- 
edge of  science  and  of  philosophy,  but  it  depended  also  on  his 
consummate  skill  in  the  use  of  language.  To  read  his  essays, 
which  deal  so  magnificently  with  old  disputes  and  forgotten 
animosities,  is  to  feel  —  at  least  a  literary  man  may  be  par- 
doned for  so  feeling  —  that  here  is  one  of  the  cunning  artif- 
icers lost  to  letters,  an  essayist  who,  if  he  had  devoted  his 
faculties  to  the  more  permanent  aspect  of  truth,  might  have 
taken  a  place  among  the  great  masters  of  literature.  Cer- 
tainly in  sarcasm  and  irony  he  had  no  superior,  unless  it  was 
Matthew  Arnold,  whom,  indeed,  he  in  many  superficial  respects 
resembles.  He  had,  no  doubt,  easy  material  in  the  bishops, 
and  the  epithet  episcopophagous,  which  he  pleasantly  coined 
for  himself,  tells  the  story  of  that  contest  in  a  word.  Better 
material  yet  was  afforded  by  Gladstone  when,  rushing  in 
where  bishops  feared  to  tread,  he  undertook  to  uphold  the 
cosmogony  of  Genesis  as  scientifically  correct.  Whatever 
one's  attitude  towards  philosophical  science  may  be,  one  can 
acknowledge  a  feeling  of  unreserved  glee  in  seeing  that  flabby, 
pretentious  intellect  pricked  and  slashed  in  such  masterly 
fashion.     Satire  like  the  following  is  never  old: 

In  particular,  the  remarkable  disquisition  which  covers  pages  ii  to  14 
of  Mr.  Gladstone's  last  contribution  [to  the  Nineteenth  Century,  January, 
18863  has  greatly  exercised  my  mind.  Socrates  is  reported  to  have  said  of 
the  works  of  Heraclitus  that  he  who  attempted  to  comprehend  them  should 
be  a  "Delian  swimmer,"  but  that,  for  his  part,  what  he  could  understand 
was  so  good  that  he  was  disposed  to  believe  in  the  excellence  of  that  which 
he  found  unintelligible.  In  endeavouring  to  make  myself  master  of  Mr. 
Gladstone's  meaning  in  these  pages,  I  have  often  been  overcome  by  a  feel- 
ing analogous  to  that  of  Socrates,  but  not  quite  the  same.    That  which  I  do 


HUXLEY  233 

understand  has  appeared  to  me  so  very  much  the  reverse  of  good,  that  I 
have  sometimes  permitted  myself  to  doubt  the  value  of  that  which  I  do 
not  understand. 

That  is  the  true  joy  of  battle,  that  keeps  the  wrangling  of 
ancient  days  forever  young: 

Full  of  the  god  that  urged  their  burning  breast, 
The  heroes  thus  their  mutual  warmth  express'd . 

In  the  case  of  Huxley  himself  there  is  no  question  of  what 
we  understand  and  what  we  do  not  understand.  All  in  his 
writing  is  of  that  peculiarly  lucid  quality  which  is  an  argu- 
ment in  itself,  for  we  are  prone  to  accept  the  canon  that  what 
is  clear  must  be  true.  Yet  there  is  a  distinction.  Though, 
so  far  as  regards  the  end  immediately  in  view,  Huxley  is 
always  a  master  of  logical  precision,  one  discovers,  in  reading 
him  largely,  that  his  ends  are  not  always  the  same,  and  that 
in  the  total  efifect  of  his  works  there  lies  concealed  an  insoluble 
ambiguity.  So  it  is  that,  though  in  one  sense  his  strongest 
intellectual  trait  was,  as  his  son  says,  "an  uncompromising 
passion  for  truth,"  yet  in  the  sum  of  his  thinking  he  was  one 
of  the  master  sophists  of  the  age.  And  the  tracks  of  his 
sophistry  lead  straight  to  that  confusion  of  positive  science 
and  hypothetical  science  and  philosophical  science  which  is, 
perhaps,  the  most  characteristic  mark  of  the  last  century. 

Agnosticism,  according  to  Huxley's  own  definition  of  the 
word  which  he  invented  to  sum  up  his  intellectual  procedure, 
is  neither  scepticism  nor  dogmatism;  it  "is  not  properly 
described  as  a  'negative'  creed,  nor  indeed  as  a  creed  of  any 
kind,  except  in  so  far  as  it  expresses  absolute  faith  in  the 
validity  of  a  principle,  which  is  as  much  ethical  as  intellectual, 
.  .  .  that  it  is  wrong  for  a  man  to  say  that  he  is  certain  of 
the  objective  truth  of  any  proposition  unless  he  can  produce 
evidence  which  logically  justifies  that  certainty."  Agnosti- 
cism, then,  is  merely  the  honest  adherence  to  evidence.  Now 
no  state  of  mind  could  be  more  exemplary  than  that  of  the 
agnostic  when  so  defined.     It  has  only  one  weakness,  that, 


234  PAUL   ELMER  MORE 

if  we  could  accept  their  own  opinion,  it  includes  all  men, 
and  so  defines  nothing.  Huxley,  indeed,  contrasts  the  proce- 
dure of  the  agnostic  with  theology,  and  declares  that  "agnos- 
ticism can  be  said  to  be  a  stage  in  its  evolution,  only  as  death 
may  be  said  to  be  the  final  stage  in  the  evolution  of  life." 
Really,  the  whole  argument,  for  one  so  keen  as  Huxley,  is 
rather  naive.  Does  he  suppose  that  Cardinal  Newman,  for 
instance,  would  admit  that  his  theological  hypothesis  was 
any  less  supported  by  evidence  than  the  evolutionary  hy- 
pothesis? As  a  matter  of  fact  Newman  might  retort  that  he 
had  with  him  the  evidence  of  ages,  whereas  Huxley  was 
depending  at  bottom  on  the  evidence  of  only  a  few  decades 
of  time.  The  difference  between  them  does  not  lie  in  their 
loyalty  or  disloyalty  to  evidence  per  se,  but  in  the  kind  of 
evidence  from  which  they  start;  nor  has  Huxley,  so  far  as  I 
know,  ever  shown,  or  even  seriously  tried  to  show,  that  the 
inner  evidence  which  gives  us  the  sense  of  moral  liberty  and 
responsibility,  of  sin  and  holiness,  is  less  logically  trust- 
worthy than  the  evidence  of  the  eye  and  the  ear. 

That  is  the  weakness  of  agnosticism  as  defined  by  its  in- 
ventor, but  it  has  a  compensating  advantage.  As  actually 
used  by  him  it  is  at  once  a  sword  of  offense  and  a  buckler  of 
safety;  permitting  the  most  truculent  dogmatism  when  the 
errors  of  an  enemy  are  to  be  exposed  and  the  most  elusive 
scepticism  when  the  enemy  charges  in  return.  Indeed,  an 
agnostic  might  briefly  and  not  unfairly  be  defined  as  a  dog- 
matist in  attack  and  a  sceptic  in  defense,  which  is  but  another 
way  of  calling  him  a  sophist.  With  what  dexterity  Huxley 
wielded  this  double  weapon  may  be  seen  in  his  use  of  the 
great  question  of  scientific  law.  More  than  once  {e.g.,  Science 
and  Christian  Tradition,  p.  134),  when  certain  deductions  from 
the  rigid  application  of  law  are  brought  home  to  him,  he 
takes  refuge  in  a  sceptical  limitation  of  law  to  the  mere  formu- 
lation of  objective  experience  in  a  world  which  is  ultimately 
moved  by  forces  beyond  the  reach  of  man's  perceptive  faculties. 


HUXLEY  235 

And  against  the  preacher  who  rashly  invades  the  scientific 
field  he  can  declare  that  "the  habitual  use  of  the  word  'law,' 
in  the  sense  of  an  active  thing,  is  almost  a  mark  of  pseudo- 
science;  it  characterizes  the  writings  of  those  who  have  appro- 
priated the  forms  of  science  without  knowing  anything  of  its 
substance."  Yet  in  the  same  essay,  when  he  opens  the 
attack  upon  those  who  would  retreat  into  a  region  beyond 
scientific  law,  he  avows  boldly  "the  fundamental  axiom  of 
scientific  thought,"  "that  there  is  not,  never  has  been,  and 
never  will  be,  any  disorder  in  nature.  The  admission  of  the 
occurrence  of  any  event  which  was  not  the  logical  consequence 
of  the  immediately  antecedent  events,  according  to  these 
definite,  ascertained,  or  unascertained  rules  which  we  call 
the  'laws  of  nature,'  would  be  an  act  of  self-destruction  on 
the  part  of  science."  And  elsewhere:  "We  ignore,  even  as  a 
possibility,  the  notion  of  any  interference  with  the  order  of 
Nature."  Now  when  we  consider  that  to  regard  the  act  of 
the  will  which  originates  the  motion  of  raising  the  arm  as  a 
force  in  any  way  contrary  to  the  law  of  gravitation,  is  in 
Huxley's  mind  an  unscientific  absurdity  {Pseudo-Scientific 
Realism,  passim),  that,  in  other  words,  life  and  the  world 
are  to  him  a  pure  mechanism,  and  when  we  consider  further 
that  he  identifies  the  claims  of  science  with  the  desire  of 
truth  {Universities:  Actual  and  Ideal,  passim),  it  really  should 
not  have  seemed  to  him  so  grave  an  error  to  use  the  word 
law  for  that  force  which  produces  the  absolute  uniformity 
defined  by  law.  It  is  Huxley  himself  in  these  moments  of 
attack  who  virtually,  if  not  literally,  takes  law  "in  the  sense 
of  an  active  thing,"  which  in  his  moments  of  defense  he  so 
vigorously  repudiates. 

Inevitably  this  ambiguity  of  attitude  becomes  even  more 
perplexed  when  he  applies  the  notion  of  scientific  law  to  the 
deeper  problems  of  life.  In  one  place,  for  instance,  he  asserts 
that  "there  lies  in  the  nature  of  things  a  reason  for  every 
moral  law,  as  cogent  and  as  well  defined  as  that  which  under- 


236  PAUL  ELMER  MORE 

lies  every  physical  law."  But  in  another  place  he  takes 
what,  from  his  principles,  must  be  regarded  as  the  opposite 
point  of  view:  "The  notion  that  the  doctrine  of  evolution  can 
furnish  a  foundation  for  morals  seems  to  me  to  be  an  illusion"; 
and  again  he  states  roundly  that  "cosmic  nature  is  no  school 
of  virtue,  but  the  headquarters  of  the  enemy  of  ethical  na- 
ture." This  ambiguity  of  his  position  involves  not  only 
morals  but  the  fundamental  question  of  spirituality  and 
materialism.  In  his  freer  moments  of  attack  he  does  not 
hesitate  to  fling  out  the  most  relentless  dogmas  of  materialism. 
The  actuality  of  the  spiritual  world,  he  declares  in  one  of  his 
prefaces,  lies  entirely  within  the  province  of  science  —  that 
is  to  say,  is  amenable  to  the  undeviating  operation  of  me- 
chanical law;  "the  materials  of  consciousness  are  products 
of  cerebral  activity,"  and  are  "the  result  of  molecular  forces"; 
"we  are,"  by  an  extension  of  the  Cartesian  theory  of  the 
lower  animals,  "conscious  automata,  .  .  .  parts  of  the  great 
series  of  causes  and  effects  which,  in  unbroken  continuity, 
composes  that  which  is,  and  has  been,  and  shall  be  —  the 
sum  of  existence."  That  should  seem  to  be  the  most  explicit 
materialism  and  necessitarianism;  yet  hear  the  same  man 
on  the  other  side!  "For  my  part,  I  utterly  repudiate  and 
anathematize  the  intruder  [this  same  necessitarianism]. 
Fact  I  know;  and  Law  I  know;  but  what  is  Necessity,  save 
an  empty  shadow  of  my  own  mind's  throwing?"  In  other 
words,  when  your  enemy  talks  loosely  of  miracles  and  spiritual 
experiences  and  supernatural  freedom,  it  is  easy  to  crush  him 
with  this  bludgeon  of  an  unbroken  law  of  mechanical  cause 
and  effect;  but  when  your  enemy  turns  on  you  and  begins 
to  draw  disagreeable  conclusions  from  this  fatal  sequence, 
it  is  the  part  of  the  skilful  fencer  to  denounce  as  an  empty 
shadow  any  connection  between  such  a  law  and  necessity! 
Further  than  that,  Huxley  when  hard  pressed,  instead  of 
abiding  manfully  by  his  premises,  was  ready  to  sink  into 
that  last  sophistry  of  the  scientific  mind  and  deny  that  there 


HUXLEY  237 

is  any  distinction  between  the  materialistic  and  the  spiritual- 
istic conception  of  life.  "In  itself,"  he  says,  "it  is  of  little 
moment  whether  we  express  the  phjenomena  of  matter  in 
terms  of  spirit;  or  the  phenomena  of  spirit  in  terms  of  matter." 
This  view  he  buttresses  {Science  and  Morals)  by  calmly 
assuming  that  St.  Augustine  and  Calvin  were  at  one  with 
him  in  holding  to  a  fatal  determination.  Is  it  necessary  to 
say  that  St.  Augustine  and  Calvin  —  whether  rightly  or 
wrongly  is  here  not  the  question  —  believed  in  a  spiritual  power 
apart  from  and  undetermined  by  natural  law?  This  power 
might  have  its  own  determinism,  but,  relatively  to  natural 
law,  it  was  spontaneous  and  incalculable.  The  difference 
to  philosophy  and  conduct  between  holding  a  spiritual 
fatalism  and  holding  a  mechanical  determinism  marks  the 
distance  between  religion  and  science  —  or,  at  least,  between 
the  positions  of  the  English  bishops  and  of  Huxley.  If  there 
is  no  distinction  here,  why  then  all  the  pother,  and  what 
meaning  is  there  in  Huxley's  cheerful  assumption  that  science 
was  to  be  the  end  of  the  Church  and  that  men  of  science 
were  to  supplant  the  bishops? 

Now  these  inconsistencies  in  Huxley  are  not  the  result  of  a 
progressive  change  in  his  views,  nor  are  they  infrequent  or 
superficial.  They  lie  at  the  very  foundation  of  the  system 
of  which  he  was  the  most  distinguished  spokesman,  and  they 
are  more  conspicuous  in  him  than  in  others  merely  because 
at  any  given  moment  his  style  is  so  eminently  transparent. 
They  spring,  indeed,  from  a  false  extension  of  the  procedure 
of  science  into  a  philosophy  of  naturalism.  The  fact  is 
simply  this:  When  the  matter  is  squarely  faced  there  can  be 
no  science,  properly  speaking,  except  in  so  far  as  the  world 
appears  to  us  a  strictly  closed  mechanical  system,  a  "block- 
universe"  as  William  James  called  it,  which  contains  its  end 
in  its  beginning  and  displays  the  whole  in  every  part.  As  it 
has  been  picturesquely  expressed:  "Were  a  single  dust-atom 
destroyed,  the  universe  would  collapse."     Absolute  regularity 


238  PAUL  ELMER  MORE 

is  the  sme  qua  non  of  scientific  law,  and  the  moment  any 
element  of  incalculable  spontaneity  is  admitted  into  the 
system,  that  moment  the  possibility  of  scientific  law  is  so 
far  excluded:  there  is  no  law  of  the  individual  or  the  unpre- 
dictable; there  is  no  science  of  the  soul  unless  man,  as  Taine 
says,  is  no  more  than  "a  very  simple  mechanism  which  analysis 
can  take  to  pieces  like  clockwork."  This  does  not  mean  that 
any  given  law  is  final  and  embraces  the  whole  content  of 
phenomena;  but  it  does  mean  that  further  knowledge,  while 
it  may  modify  a  law  or  supplant  one  law  by  another,  still 
leaves  us  within  the  realm  of  absolute  mechanical  regularity. 
Such  a  closed  system  is  properly  called  nature;  it  was  clearly 
conceived  and  given  to  philosophy  by  the  great  naturalists  of 
the  seventeenth  century. 

Nature,  thus  conceived  as  a  block-system,  is  the  proper 
field  of  positive  science,  and  leads  to  no  embarrassment  so 
long  as  we  do  not  attempt  anything  more  than  the  classifi- 
cation of  physical  phenomena  under  laws.  But  there  is 
a  tendency  in  the  human  mind  which  draws  it  almost  irre- 
sistibly to  pass  from  the  formulation  of  laws  to  the  definition 
of  the  force  or  cause  underlying  them.  This  is  hypothetical 
science.  Such  a  procedure  already  involves  a  certain  violence 
to  scientific  evidence,  but  it  does  not  stop  here.  Suppose 
there  exists  a  body  of  testimony,  accumulated  through  thou- 
sands of  years,  to  the  effect  that  a  whole  world  of  our  inner 
life  lies  outside  of  that  block-universe  of  mechanical  deter- 
minism: what  then  is  the  man  of  hypothetical  science  to  do? 
He  may  deny  the  validity  of  any  evidence  apart  from  that 
which  leads  to  scientific  law,  and  having  erected  this  law  of 
mechanical  regularity  into  an  active  cause  governing  and 
controlling  the  world,  he  may  set  it  in  opposition  to  the  hy- 
pothesis of  a  personal  God  which  Christians  have  created 
from  the  evidence  of  their  inner  experience.  He  may  be 
onesided,  but  he  will  be  consistent.  In  this  sense,  and  with 
a   consequence   different   from    what   he    intended,    Frederic 


HUXLEY  239 

Harrison  was  justified  in  saying  that  "agnosticism  as  a  reli- 
gious philosophy  per  se  rests  on  an  almost  total  ignoring  of 
history  and  social  evolution."  But  suppose  further  that  our 
scholar,  having  naturally  broad  interests  and  sympathies, 
is  still  importuned  by  all  that  evidence  in  the  moral  and 
political  spheres  which  he  could  not  bring  into  conformity 
with  his  hypothesis:  what  will  he  do?  In  attempting  to 
cling  to  an  hypothesis  which  is  based  on  the  exclusion  of 
half  the  evidence  of  life,  while  at  the  same  time  he  feels  the 
appeal  of  the  whole  range  of  evidence,  he  will  try  to  develop 
that  hypothesis  into  a  complete  philosophy  of  life,  and  in 
doing  so  he  will  necessarily  fall  into  just  those  inconsistencies 
which  strike  us  over  and  over  again  in  Huxley.  He  will  become 
a  victim  of  that  huge  self-contradiction  which  I  have  called 
philosophical  science. 

Now  we  all  know  how  completely  this  sophism  took  posses- 
sion of  England  and  the  world  about  the  middle  of  the  last 
century.  In  particular  the  magnitude  of  Darwin's  work  in 
the  field  of  positive  science  and  the  superb  simplicity  of  his 
explanation  of  the  whole  order  of  existence,  including  man, 
as  the  product  of  a  mechanical  law  of  selection,  easily  imposed 
the  evolutionary  hypothesis  as  a  lawgiver  upon  education  and 
morals  and  religion  and  government.  And  to  the  authority 
of  Darwin  was  added  the  persuasiveness  of  Huxley's  masterly 
skill  as  lecturer  and  writer.  It  seemed  to  the  men  who  heard 
his  voice  as  if  the  long  obscurity  that  had  involved  human 
destiny  was  to  be  rolled  away,  as  if  at  last  the  pathway  of 
truth  had  been  found,  and  the  world's  great  age  was  about  to 
be  renewed.  And  however  we  may  now  see  the  inconsistencies 
and  feel  what  in  another  man  might  be  called  the  duplicity 
that  underlay  Huxley's  method  of  attack  and  defense,  there 
was  enough  of  the  stuff  of  positive  science  in  his  doctrine  to 
give  it  a  certain  moral  stiffness  and  intellectual  rigor  which 
must  always  claim  our  admiration.  But  with  the  passage 
of  years  a  change  has  come  upon  philosophical  science.     The 


240  PAUL  ELMER  MORE 

human  mind  could  not  long  rest  content  with  a  system  which 
was  so  glaringly  at  war  with  itself,  and  indeed  there  are  signs 
that  Huxley  himself  was  not  always  satisfied  with  his  position. 
But  where  lay  the  way  of  escape?  These  men  would  not 
willingly  give  up  the  authority  which  seemed  to  be  derived 
from  the  actualities  of  positive  science,  yet  they  began  to 
see  that  the  hypothesis  of  a  block-universe  had  brought  them 
to  an  absolute  impasse.  The  history  of  the  intellect  since 
the  days  of  Darwin's  supremacy,  therefore,  has  been  marked 
by  an  attempt  to  preserve  the  facts  of  evolution  as  the  basis 
of  a  scientific  philosophy,  but  to  alter  the  evolutionary  hypoth- 
esis so  as  to  bring  it  into  harmony  with  the  spontaneous  part 
of  human  nature.  The  process  has  widened  the  distance 
between  positive  science  and  philosophical  science;  it  has 
introduced  a  new  set  of  inconsistencies,  not  to  say  absurdities, 
into  thought,  but  it  is  extremely  interesting  for  the  way  in 
which  it  has  finally  brought  together  two  currents  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  that  might  have  seemed  to  a  superficial  observer 
the  very  opposites  of  each  other.  What  appeared  in  Huxley's 
time,  and  still  more  in  the  half-century  preceding  him,  to  be 
the  very  bulwark  against  those  laxer  principles  and  tendencies 
which  may  be  grouped  together  as  romantic,  has  gradually 
thrown  off  its  hard  rationalism,  until  now  in  our  day  philo- 
sophical science  and  romanticism  are  actually  merging  to- 
gether and  becoming  almost  indistinguishable.  In  place 
of  Huxley  we  have  William  James  and  Bergson.  The  change 
is  significant  and  worthy  of  analysis,  for  the  true  meaning 
of  a  movement  is  known  by  its  end.  So  much  we  may  learn 
from  Pragmatism,  even  while  criticizing  it. 

Nor  is  it  difficult,  if  we  regard  the  material  and  moral 
forces  from  which  science  and  romanticism  respectively  take 
their  start,  so  see  how  these  two  apparent  enemies  have  come 
to  join  hands  in  a  truce  if  not  in  an  alliance.  We  do  not  often 
stop  to  reflect  on  the  world  of  pain  and  horror  which  underlies 
this  surface  of  things  on  which  we  move  so  comfortably.     Only 


HUXLEY  241 

now  and  then  some  accident,  some  physical  rebelHon  as  it 
might  be  called,  sets  loose  the  pent-up  demonic  powers,  and 
for  a  moment  life  is  as  it  would  be  if  in  a  madhouse  the  phren- 
zied  patients  were  to  break  their  fetters  and  overcome  their 
keepers.  Each  force  of  nature  in  itself  seems  to  be  limitless 
in  its  potential  activity,  and  in  so  far  as  it  is  unchecked  or 
unbalanced  by  some  other  force  becomes  the  source  of  ruin 
to  mankind.  Manifestly  that  orderly  subordination  which 
is  the  condition  of  our  physical  well-being  depends  on  some 
principle  of  control  and  balance  which  is  not  inherent  in  the 
individual  forces  of  nature.  Furthermore,  if  our  horror  at 
these  calamities,  if  the  physical  repugnance  that  lies  always 
concealed  in  our  breast,  have  any  meaning,  it  is  in  the  testi- 
mony they  bear  to  a  certain  correspondence  on  the  one  hand 
between  our  sense  of  moral  evil  and  the  destructive  limit- 
lessness  of  any  natural  force  in  itself,  and  on  the  other  hand 
between  our  sense  of  moral  justice  and  the  imposition  of  order 
and  subordination  upon  those  forces.  We  are  thrust  by  our 
emotions  into  an  absolute  duahsm.  Now  the  point  to  consider 
is  that  pure  science  deals  with  these  forces  in  themselves  and 
as  unlimited,  and  without  any  thought  of  such  human  dis- 
tinctions. A  little  spark  kindles  a  fire,  and  instantly  the 
flames  sweep  over  a  city,  consuming  life  and  property  and 
spreading  everywhere  destruction  and  terror.  Yet  with  this 
terror  science  has  nothing  to  do;  it  is  concerned  with  the  laws 
of  heat.  Again  some  movement  takes  place  within  the  earth; 
the  crust  on  which  we  walk  is  rent  and  shaken,  and  the  helpless 
human  creatures  are  killed  and  mutilated  as  ruthlessly  as  the 
ants  in  their  little  mound  over  which  we  inadvertently  stumble. 
Yet  with  this  hideous  fear  science  has  nothing  to  do;  it  is 
concerned  with  the  laws  of  motion.  Nor  is  the  human  body 
itself  free  from  these  incursions  of  uncontrolled  energy.  One 
very  close  to  us,  one  whose  fragile  beauty  has  filled  us  with  a 
long  apprehension  of  love,  is  seized  by  a  loathsome  disease; 
those  lower  forms  of  life  which  to  our  vanity  we  seem  to  have 


242  PAUL  ELMER  MORE 

trampled  down  in  our  progress  have  suddenly  risen  up  like 
avenging  furies  and  laid  their  obscene  grip  on  what  was 
dearest  and  fairest  to  us.  We  look  on  in  an  agony  of  suspense, 
as  if  in  this  precious  body  the  very  armies  of  good  and  evil 
were  at  war.  Yet  all  the  while  the  physician  watches  with 
impassive,  critical  eye,  studying  symptoms,  applying  reme- 
dies, awaiting  calmly  the  results:  his  very  efficacy  as  a  man  of 
science  depends  on  his  freedom  from  those  emotions  which 
are  tearing  at  our  heartstrings;  he  is  concerned  with  the  laws 
of  parasitic  life. 

Science  is  properly  the  servant  of  our  emotions  and  of  the 
corresponding  sense  of  dualism,  but  in  its  method  of  work  it 
not  only  ignores  our  emotions,  but  can  perform  its  true  service 
only  so  long  as  it  ignores  them  and  deals  with  the  pure  forces 
of  nature.  The  error  and  danger  arise  when  it  disdains  to 
be  a  servant  and  sets  itself  up  as  mistress,  raising  its  means 
into  an  end  and  its  procedure  into  a  philosophy.  Moved 
by  our  importunate  consciousness  of  order  and  disorder,  yet 
bound  in  its  hypothetical  explanation  of  evolution  to  consider 
the  forces  of  nature  alone,  without  the  admission  of  any  law 
of  control  outside  of  them,  it  has  come  gradually  to  a  con- 
ception of  the  world  as  an  entity  containing  within  itself 
some  force  of  vitalism,  some  clan  vital,  which  by  its  inherent 
limitlessness  is  the  source  of  constant  creation,  making  the 
sum  of  things  actually  greater  to-day  than  it  was  yesterday 
and,  from  our  human  point  of  view,  more  orderly.  Sheer 
expansiveness  becomes  the  law  of  physical  life.  The  accept- 
ance of  this  hypothesis  of  an  incalculable  energy,  whose  action 
to-day  can  in  no  wise,  or  only  imperfectly,  be  predicted  from 
its  action  yesterday,  might  seem  to  evict  the  very  possibility 
of  scientific  law;  but  there  are  two  things  to  consider.  In  the 
first  place  this  hypothesis  is  just  an  hypothesis  and  has  little 
or  no  relation  to  the  actual  work  of  positive  science.  And 
in  the  second  place  it  seduces  the  scientific  mind  by  seeming 
to  get   rid  altogether  of    that  dualism  which  is  ignored  in 


HUXLEY 


243 


scientific  procedure.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  merely  changes 
the  character  of  that  duahsm  by  setting  the  two  terms  apart 
at  the  beginning  and  end  of  time  instead  of  regarding  them  as 
existent  together  and  independent  of  time.^ 

From  this  rather  slippery  hypothesis  of  a  universe  in  the 
process  of  continual  self-expansion  it  is  but  a  step  to  the  modern 
scientific  philosophy  of  human  progress  as  depending,  not 
on  any  ideal  outside  of  evolution,  but  as  —  what  shall  I 
say?  —  as  self-causative.  Here  precisely  enters  the  point  of 
connection  between  philosophical  science  and  romanticism  i^ 
but  to  understand  its  full  meaning  we  must  look  back  into  the 
sources  of  the  second  member  of  the  alliance. 

Now,  in  attempting  to  characterize  the  historic  romanticism 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  the  first  trait  that  is  forced  upon  our 
attention  is  the  note  of  rebellion  from  the  classics.  That 
hostility  between  romanticism  and  classicism  is  fundamental: 
we  cannot  escape  it.  Greek  philosophy,  as  it  touches  upon 
human  conduct  and  as  it  was  handed  down  to  the  modern 
world,  was  summed  up  in  the  Nicomachean  Ethics,  at  the  very 
heart  of  which  lies  the  classical  distinction  between  the  infinite, 
as  the  absolute,  and  the  limitless.     According  to  Aristotle 

^  The  middle  term  between  the  hypothesis  of  a  purely  mechanical  evo- 
lution and  the  hypothesis  of  evolution  as  conceived  by  Bergson  may  be 
found  in  the  evolutionary  monism  of  Haeckel,  which  has  been  beautifully 
analyzed  and  demolished  by  M.  Emile  Boutroux  in  his  recent  work,  La 
Science  el  la  Religion  dans  la  philosophie  content poraine. 

^  This  union  was  clearly  foreshadowed  in  Diderot;  it  was  developed  by 
Comte;  but  its  great  authority  could  not  come  until  after  the  work  of 
Darwin.  In  one  of  his  essays  Huxley  speaks  with  scorn  of  Mr.  Frederic 
Harrison's  Positivism,  and  asks:  "What  has  Comtism  to  do  with  the 
'New  Philosophy'  [i.e.,  the  philosophy  of  science]?"  Mr.  Harrison  might 
easily  have  retorted.  In  fact  when  Huxley  boasted  that  the  bishops  were 
to  be  replaced  by  the  "new  school  of  the  prophets  [i.e.,  men  of  science]" 
as  "  the  only  one  that  can  work  miracles,"  and  when  he  acknowledged  that 
"the  interests  of  science  and  industry  are  identical,"  he  was  merely  re- 
peating Comte's  early  theory  of  the  supplanting  of  the  priest  and  the  soldier 
by  the  man  of  science  and  the  man  of  business. 


244  PAUL  ELMER  MORE 

the  active  nature  of  man  is  made  up  of  desires,  or  impulses 
(eTndvfjLLat) ,  which  in  themselves  are  incapable  of  self-restraint 
and  therefore  limitless  (aireLpos  yap  ri  rrjs  eirLdvfjLias  (j)vcns, 
Pol.,  II,  4;  the  translation  of  aireLpos  in  Greek  generally  as 
"infinite"  instead  of  "limitless"  has  been  the  source  of  endless 
confusion  of  ideas).  Furthermore  this  limitlessness  is  of  the 
very  essence  of  evil,  whereas  good  in  itself  may  be  defined  as 
a  limit  (to  yap  KaKov  rod  airelpov  to  8'  ayadov  tov  ■Keirepaap.kvov) 
and  the  aim  of  conduct  is  to  acquire  that  golden  mean  which 
is  nothing  other  than  a  certain  bound  set  to  the  inherent 
limitlessness  of  our  impulsive  or  desiring  nature.  The  deter- 
mination of  this  bound  in  each  case  is  the  function  of  reason, 
which  embraces  the  whole  existence  of  man  as  an  organism 
in  his  environment  and  says  to  each  impulse  as  it  arises,  thus 
far  shalt  thou  go  and  no  further.  But  as  the  basis  of  practical 
life  is  the  limitless  sway  of  unrelated  impulses,  reason,  to 
establish  its  balance  and  measure,  to  find,  that  is,  its  norm  of 
unity,  must  look  ultimately  to  some  point  quite  outside  of  the 
realm  of  impulse  and  nature.  Hence  the  imposition  of 
the  theoretical  life,  as  Aristotle  calls  it,  upon  the  practical  — 
the  contemplation  of  that  absolute  unity  which  is  unmoved 
amid  all  that  moves.  This  unity  not  of  nature  is  the  infinite; 
it  is  the  very  opposite  of  that  Hmitlessness  which  is  the  attri- 
bute of  nature  itself;  it  is  not  a  state  of  endless,  indefinite 
expansion,  but  is  on  the  contrary  that  state  of  centralization 
which  has  its  goal  in  itself  (Trap'  avTrjv  ov8ev6s  ecpieadac  reXous). 
The  revolt  from  this  essential  dualism  of  classical  philosophy 
began  in  the  seventeenth  century.  That  age  was  notably  a 
time  of  confused  thinking  and  of  reaching  out  in  many  direc- 
tions. But  at  its  beginning,  and  always  in  the  background, 
lay  a  certain  mode  of  regarding  life,  the  orthodox  mode  of 
supernaturalism.  On  the  one  side  was  the  great  flux  of  nature, 
embracing  in  its  endless  activity  the  heart  of  man  and  the 
phenomenal  world.  "The  sea  itself,"  says  Bossuet,  "has  not 
more  waves  when  it  is  agitated  by  the  winds  than  are  the 


HUXLEY  245 

diverse  thoughts  that  rise  from  this  abyss  without  bottom, 
from  this  impenetrable  mystery  of  the  heart  of  man."  Within 
this  chaos  of  the  human  breast  sat  reason  as  a  kind  of  king 
or  arbiter,  by  its  command  bringing  order  out  of  disorder. 
But  reason  itself,  as  understood  by  the  characteristic  minds 
of  the  age,  belonged  to  nature,  and  was  a  sufficient  guide  only 
so  long  as  it  listened  to  the  voice  of  a  restraining  power  above 
and  outside  of  nature.  The  true  division  was  not  between 
reason  and  instinct  or  desire,  but  between  all  these  together, 
as  forces  of  nature,  and  superrational  insight.  That  is  to  say, 
the  orthodox  view  of  the  seventeenth-  century  was  the  clas- 
sical duahsm  which  had  become  involved  and  obscured  in 
a  vast  system  of  Christian  mythology  and  theology.  The 
irremediable  fault,  default  one  might  say,  of  the  age  was  that 
it  never  attained  to  a  clear  and  untrammelled  definition  of 
the  superrational  insight  upon  which  its  faith  was  based. 
Pascal,  indeed,  approached  such  a  definition  when  he  set  the 
heart  over  against  reason  and  concupiscence,  meaning  by 
heart  not  so  much  the  desires  and  emotions,  as  the  contrast 
with  concupiscence  plainly  shows,  but  that  faculty  by  which 
we  intuitively  apprehend  the  infinite  and  eternal.  Yet  even 
in  Pascal  this  faculty  of  intuition  was  never  freed  from  the 
bondage  of  revelation  and  questionable  authority,  while  in 
most  of  his  religious  contemporaries  it  was  inextricably  con- 
fused with  some  external  voice  of  the  Bible  or  the  Church. 
Not  many  men  to-day  have  the  patience  to  read  far  in  the 
endless  theological  Hterature  of  that  age;  and  with  reason. 
It  is  the  curse  of  the  Reformation  that  the  search  for  truth 
was  largely  diverted  by  it  into  a  monstrous  and  deadening 
discussion  over  the  particular  instrument  or  institution  to 
which  the  truth  was  supposed  to  be  once  and  for  all  imparted 
as  a  sacred  deposit.  He  who  is  willing  and  strong  to  read 
those  mighty  books  may  be  fortified  in  his  own  soul  by  feeling 
that  the  tremendous  earnestness  of  this  war  over  authority 
must  have  implied,  beneath  all  the  battle  of  words,  an  equal 


246  PAUL  ELMER  MORE 

earnestness  over  the  truth  for  which  the  debated  authority 
was  supposed  to  stand.  But  the  actual  result  of  that  debate 
was  to  weary  and  bewilder  the  mind  of  contemporary  men. 
Gradually  the  whole  question  of  traditional  authority,  and 
with  it  the  higher  intuition  which  had  been  so  obstinately 
identified  with  this  authority,  begins  to  lose  its  hold,  and  in 
its  place  comes  the  new  reign  of  naturaHsm. 

Now  naturalism  is  precisely  the  denial  of  any  revealed 
authority  or  supernatural  intuition  whatsoever.  For  the 
government  of  the  fluctuating  element  of  nature  it  looks  to 
reason  alone,  which  it  recognizes  as  but  another,  if  higher, 
aspect  of  the  same  nature.  Hence  the  dominant  philosophy 
of  the  eighteenth  century  was  a  rationalism,  which  in  religion 
denied,  or  at  least  minimized,  all  that  is  mysterious  and  escapes 
the  net  of  logic,  and  in  science  regarded  the  world  as  a  vast 
machine  which  can  be  perfectly  expressed  in  a  mathematical 
equation.  Literature  followed  the  lead  and  became  rational 
and  pseudo-classic.  I  would  not  exaggerate  the  regularity 
of  this  development,  for,  after  all,  the  human  mind  remains 
always  essentially  the  same  and  varies  only  as  one  or  another 
element  comes  uppermost.  And  in  particular  any  comment 
on  the  pseudo-classic  literature  (which  in  itself  has  many 
comfortable  excellences)  should  not  fail  to  distinguish  the 
truly  Augustan  circle  of  Butler  and  Johnson  and  Reynolds 
and  Goldsmith  and  Burke,  whose  humanism,  like  that  of 
Horace,  contained,  not  so  much  explicitly  as  in  solution,  the 
higher  insight  which  the  philosophy  of  their  age  was  so  busily 
hiding  away.  They  contained,  that  is  to  say,  some  marks  of 
true  classicism  as  contrasted  with  pseudo-classicism.  Never- 
theless the  main  current  of  the  times  was  evident  enough, 
and  on  its  surface  carried  religion  and  science  and  literature 
in  a  compliant  brotherhood. 

Johnson  and  his  school  belonged  essentially  to  the  main 
rationahstic  stream  of  the  age,  though  in  some  respects  they 
surpassed  it.     But  by  their  side  there  was  springing  up  another 


HUXLEY  247 

school,  equally  a  child  of  naturalism,  but  hostile  to  what  may 
be  called  the  official  philosophy.  Naturalism  acknowledged 
both  the  reason  and  the  instincts  or  emotions  as  belonging 
to  the  nature  of  man,  and  thus  manifestly  left  the  door  open 
to  a  revolt  against  the  tyranny  of  one  element  of  nature  over 
the  other.  Accordingly,  almost  with  the  beginning  of  ration- 
alism we  see  springing  up,  timidly  and  uncertainly  at  first, 
various  forms  of  appeal  to  pure  instinct  and  unrestrained 
emotion.  This  voice  of  insubordination  first  became  clear 
and  defiant  and  fully  self-conscious  in  Blake;  and  the  message 
of  Blake,  repeated  in  a  hundred  various  notes,  now  tender 
and  piercingly  sweet,  now  blurred  by  strange  rumblings  of 
thunderous  madness,  is  everywhere  a  summons  to  the  perfect 
freedom  of  instinct  and  primitive  emotion  and  a  denunciation 
of  the  control  demanded  by  reason  or  by  authority  of  any  sort: 

Those  who  restrain  desire,  do  so  because  theirs  is  weak  enough  to  be 
restrained;  and  the  restrainer  or  reason  usurps  its  place  and  governs  the 
unwilling. 

The  road  of  excess  leads  to  the  palace  of  wisdom. 

He  who  desires  but  acts  not,  breeds  pestilence. 

These  epigrams  are  from  The  Marriage  oj  Heaven  and  Hell, 
a  book  which  Swinburne  was  to  rank  ''as  about  the  greatest 
produced  by  the  eighteenth  century  in  the  line  of  high  poetry 
and  spiritual  speculation,''^  and  which  to  Mr.  Arthur  Symons 
was  an  anticipation  of  Nietzsche:  "No  one  can  think  and 
escape  Nietzsche;  but  Nietzsche  has  come  after  Blake,  and 
will  pass  before  Blake  passes."  Now  Swinburne  and  Mr. 
Symons  were  indubitably  right  in  seeing  in  such  passages  as 
these  the  very  bible  of  romanticism,  and  Blake's  place  as  an 
expositor  of  that  movement,  for  England  at  least,  is  coming 
to  be  generally  admitted.  But  in  holding  up  Blake's  revolt 
against  reason  as  spiritual  speculation  they,  and  others,  have 
fallen  into  the  error  which,  as  it  seems  to  me,  has  made  of 
romanticism  the  source  of  endless  illusions. 


248  PAUL  ELMER   MORE 

In  the  field  of  the  imagination  the  school  of  Blake  at  the 
last  carried  victory  with  a  high  hand  over  the  pseudo-classic 
and  humanistic  writers,  and  the  nineteenth  century  opens 
upon  a  world  pretty  well  divided  between  the  quarrelsome 
twins  of  rational  science  and  irrational  romanticism.  In  so 
far  as  the  romantic  imagination  yields  to  the  self-sufiiciency 
of  instinct  and  emotion  it  implies  a  real  revolt  from  rationalism; 
it  is  in  a  way  even  more  hostile  to  rationalism  than  the  classic 
use  of  the  imagination,  for  classicism  never  involved  a  rejec- 
tion of  the  reason,  though  it  differed  from  pseudo-classicism 
by  leaving  the  door  open  to  an  intuition  above  reason.  But 
the  peculiar  tone  of  romantic  writing  comes  not  so  much  from 
the  mere  revolt  against  pseudo-classicism  as  from  the  illusion 
that  this  revolt  is  a  return  to  spiritual  insight.  Here  I  am  tread- 
ing on  slippery  ground,  and  it  behooves  me  to  walk  warily. 
That  all  the  spiritual  aspirations  of  the  nineteenth  century 
were  of  a  bastard  birth,  only  a  very  ignorant  or  willful  man 
would  assert.  Humanity  is  larger  than  any  formula,  and  no 
age  can  be  limited  by  a  label.  In  the  romantic  literature 
that  unfolds  from  Blake  there  is  much  that  is  simply  true, 
much  that  is  beautiful  and  magnificent,  and  there  are  moments 
that  express  the  divine  awe  that  belongs  to  the  sudden 
infiooding  of  the  veritable  other- world;  but  in  the  most  char- 
acteristic moods  of  that  literature,  when  it  expresses  most  per- 
fectly the  main  current  of  the  age,  there  will  be  found,  I  believe, 
a  deep  confusion  of  ideas  which  results  from  assimilating  the 
rebellion  of  the  lower  element  of  our  nature  with  the  control 
that  comes  from  above  nature.  For  the  infinite  spirit  which 
makes  itself  known  as  a  restraining  check  and  a  law  of  con- 
centration within  the  flux  of  nature,  this  new  aspiration  of 
liberty  would  substitute  the  mere  endless  expansion  which 
ensues  upon  the  denial  of  any  restraint  whatsoever;  in  place 
of  the  higher  intuition  which  is  above  reason  it  would  commit 
mankind  to  the  lower  intuition  which  is  beneath  reason.  This 
illusion  of  the  senses  has  dazzled  the  human  mind  in  other 


HUXLEY  249 

ages  as  well  as  in  the  present.  It  shows  itself  here  and  there 
in  the  classics  of  antiquity.  It  developed  a  special  form  in 
the  Alexandrian  union  of  Oriental  religion  and  Occidental 
philosophy,  and  was  thus  passed  on  to  the  Middle  Ages.  It 
can  be  found  in  the  seventeenth  century  beside  the  true 
insight.  It  assumes  many  disguises  and  is  often  extremely 
difficult  to  distinguish  from  the  supreme  disillusion.  The  very 
fact  that  the  same  word,  romantic,  is  used  to  designate  the 
wonder  of  the  infinite  and  the  wonder  of  the  limitless  shows 
how  easily  we  merge  together  these  extreme  opposites.  But 
the  historic  romanticism  of  the  nineteenth  century,  when  it 
strikes  its  central  note,  whether  it  be  the  morbid  egotism  of 
a  Beckford,  or  the  religious  defalcation  of  a  Newman,  or  the 
aestheticism  of  a  Pater,  or  the  dregs  of  naturalistic  pantheism 
seen  in  a  Fiona  Macleod,  or  the  impotent  revolt  from  human- 
itarian sympathy  of  a  Nietzsche  — •  this  romanticism  is  in 
its  essence  a  denial  of  classical  dualism  and  an  illusory  sub- 
stitution of  the  mere  limitless  expansion  of  our  impulsive 
nature  for  that  true  infinite  within  the  heart  of  man,  which 
is  not  of  nature  and  whose  voice  is  heard  as  the  inner  check, 
restraining,  centralizing,  and  forming. 

If  romanticism  is  thus  rightly  defined,  its  point  of  contact 
with  science  is  easily  marked.  Those  limitless  forces  which 
were  raised  into  the  scientific  hypothesis  of  a  self-evolving, 
or  rather  self-creating,  universe  are  the  exact  counterpart' in 
outer  nature  of  those  limitless  desires  or  impulses  in  the  heart 
which  are  the  substance  of  the  romantic  illusion.  They 
find  their  union  in  that  very  modern  philosophy  of  life  which 
may  be  called  indifferently  scientific  or  romantic.  As  it  is 
concerned  with  conduct  and  the  inner  life  rather  than  with 
material  phenomena,  it  may  be  regarded  as  the  offspring  of 
romanticism;  as  it  enjoys  its  great  authority  from  a  supposed 
connection  with  the  actual  discoveries  of  physical  law,  and  has 
obtained  its  precise  character  from  the  evolutionary  hypothesis, 
it  may  with  equal  propriety  be  regarded  as  the  bastard  off- 


250  PAUL    ELMER    MORE 

spring  of  science  —  as,  in  a  word,  the  latest  form  of  philosoph- 
ical science.  The  keynote  of  this  new  philosophy,  whether 
it  take  one  of  the  many  forms  of  Pragmatism  or  express  itself 
in  the  evolutionary  language  of  M.  Bergson  or  conceal  itself 
in  the  sardonic  indifference  of  the  man  in  the  street,  is  a  kind 
of  laissez-faire,  a  belief  that,  as  the  physical  world  has  unrolled 
itself  by  its  own  expansive  forces,  so  human  society  progresses 
by  some  universal  instinct,  needing  no  rational  and  selective 
guidance,  no  imposition  of  moral  restraint,  no  conscious 
insight. 

And  mark  well,  we  are  here  concerned  not  with  an  idle 
question  of  the  schools,  but  with  a  very  real  outcome  in 
conduct.  You  will  find  the  trace  of  this  philosophy  in  every 
department  of  life.  It  has  remolded  our  whole  practice 
of  education;  and  this  perhaps  is  the  point  where  its  influence 
is  clearest  and  where  attack  may  be  most  successfully  directed. 
Perhaps  we  do  not  often  stop  to  consider  the  relation  between 
the  usurpation  of  purely  scientific  studies  in  our  college 
curriculum  with  the  Rousselian  notion  that  education  must 
place  no  restraint  upon  the  child,  but  must  merely  help  him 
to  expand  in  the  direction  of  his  emotional  instincts;  yet  in 
reality  that  relation  is  to-day  the  main  factor  in  shaping  our 
pedagogical  theories.  Positive  science  is  a  noble  vocation, 
but  just  so  sure  as  it  is  made  in  considerable  part  the  basis  of 
education,  instead  of  being  treated  as  a  profession,  like  law 
or  medicine,  to  be  taken  up  after  a  general  education,  just  so 
surely  the  confusions  of  philosophical  science  will  follow  and 
claim  authority  in  our  schools.  The  unhampered  elective 
system,  which  is  merely  the  pedagogical  form  of  the  new 
philosophy  of  laissez-faire,  is  in  a  way  anything  and  every- 
thing; but  one  characteristic  and  one  result  of  it  are  omni- 
present. It  is  characterized  by  a  revolt  from  Greek  and  Latin, 
due  in  part  no  doubt  to  such  subsidiary  causes  as  the  pedantry 
which  laid  its  paralyzing  hand  on  classical  instruction,  but 
due  more  essentially  to  the  hostility  between  the  classical 


HUXLEY  251 

way  of  viewing  life  and  the  new  juncture  of  romantic  and 
scientific  philosophy.  The  result  of  the  modern  system  is 
a  laxity  of  mind  in  those  who  have  drifted  through  our  insti- 
tutions from  kindergarten  to  university,  a  repugnance  for 
good  reading,  in  a  word,  that  lack  of  real  education  which  is 
more  and  more  deplored  by  instructors  in  school  and 
college. 

In  politics  the  spirit  of  laissez-faire  shows  itself  in  the  feel- 
ing that  to  be  right  we  need  only  follow  unhesitatingly  the 
clamor  of  the  day;  whereas  any  suppression  of  a  self-assert- 
ive movement  in  favor  of  a  saner  ideal  already  established 
is  denounced  as  reaction  and  death.  Take,  for  instance,  our 
attitude  towards  socialism.  Perhaps  no  comment  is  more 
frequently  on  the  lips  of  the  man  in  the  street  —  that  myste- 
rious arbiter  of  civilization  —  than  the  words:  It  is  bound  to 
come,  why  strive  against  it?  As  a  matter  of  fact  socialism, 
in  some  very  imperfect  form,  may  indeed  come,  but  is  by  no 
means  bound  to  come.  To  say  that  the  whole  teaching  of 
history  proves  its  necessity  is  to  forget  most  of  the  chapters 
of  that  book,  and  is  to  fall  into  the  common  error  of  the  half- 
educated  who  extend  their  knowledge  of  one  age  over  all  ages. 
I  cannot  see  much  difference  between  those  who  accept  some 
form  of  socialism  because  by  the  very  definition  of  Karl  Marx 
it  is  a  "fatal  necessity,"  and  those  who  accepted  the  old  scho- 
lastic notion  of  God,  with  all  its  consequences,  because  by  their 
own  definition  of  God  he  must  exist.  The  question  here, 
however,  is  not  the  goodness  or  evil  of  socialism  in  itself,  but 
the  perilous  state  of  any  society  which  for  some  blind  law  of 
evolution  surrenders  its  right  to  criticize  and  to  determine 
its  own  course  rationally.  "Man,"  says  M.  Georges  Sorel, 
the  philosopher  and  for  a  time  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  "syn- 
dicalist" branch  of  socialism  in  France  —  "man  has  genius 
only  in  the  measure  that  he  does  not  reflect."  And  when 
asked  what  new  form  of  government  should  be  erected  on  the 
ruins  of  society  brought  about  by  the  general  strike,  M.  Sorel 


252  PAUL    ELMER    MORE 

replied  that  with  such  constructive  thought  for  the  future  we 
had  nothing  to  do;  we  had  learned  from  Bergson  to  trust 
ourselves  implicitly  to  the  blind  instinctive  forces  of  nature. 

In  like  manner  in  regard  to  female  suffrage:  we  deceive 
ourselves  if  we  suppose  that  its  admission  or  rejection  will  be 
the  result  of  argument  and  rational  conviction.  The  power 
that  is  bringing  it  into  practical  life  is  the  sentiment  heard  from 
the  mouth  of  every  other  man  you  meet:  If  the  women  want 
it,  why,  let  them  have  it.  And  this  sentiment  finds  support 
in  the  weary  fatalism  of  the  day:  It  is  bound  to  come  whether 
you  like  it  or  not;  why  resist  the  irresistible?  Again,  the 
question  is  not  whether  female  suffrage  is  a  good  or  an  evil 
thing  in  itself,  but  the  ignoble  abdication  of  judgment  in 
accepting  any  present  tendency  as  a  fatal  force  which  it  is 
useless,  if  not  wrong,  to  curb. 

And  so,  to  pass  to  quite  another  field,  the  laissez-faire  of 
philosophical  science  is  beginning  to  modify  our  whole  treat- 
ment of  crime.  We  no  longer  punish  the  criminal  as  a  being 
responsible  for  his  acts,  under  the  belief  that  there  is  in  man  a 
voluntary  power  to  shape  his  own  character,  but  when  we 
punish  him  at  all,  we  do  so  apologetically,  as  if  society  and  not 
he  were  the  guilty  party,  and  as  if  his  crime  were  merely  one 
of  the  products  of  evolution,  like  any  disease  to  be  cured 
by  fresh  air  and  flattery.  I  have  no  desire  to  enter  into  the 
intricacies  of  the  new  penology.  But  I  have  been  impressed 
by  two  opinions  from  very  diverse  sources.  I  recall  reading 
in  one  of  the  books  of  that  connoisseur  of  the  underworld, 
the  late  Josiah  Flynt,  the  remark  of  a  professional  burglar 
to  the  effect  that  the  only  prevention  against  crime  was  sure 
and  sharp  punishment.  And  I  connect  with  this  observation 
the  recent  statement  of  the  Police  Commissioner  of  New  York, 
to  the  effect  that  the  excess  of  violence  and  lawlessness  in 
this  city  is  due  to  the  number  of  suspended  sentences  and  the 
general  feeling  among  those  criminally  disposed  that  the  courts 
will  not  convict.     Mr.  Waldo  may  have  had  various  reasons 


HUXLEY  253 

for  offering  such  an  apology  for  his  department,  but  it  is  sig- 
nificant to  compare  certain  statistics  of  New  York  with  those 
of  London  where  the  older  habits  of  swift  and  relentless  judg- 
ment still  prevail.  In  our  American  city  the  average  annual 
number  of  murders  for  the  years  1908-10  was  one  hundred 
and  seventeen,  while  the  average  number  of  convictions  was 
only  twenty-five.  In  London,  with  its  population  of  seven 
million,  the  average  for  those  years  was  twenty  murders,  for 
which  fifteen  persons  either  committed  suicide  before  police 
action  or  were  convicted.^  Among  the  causes  for  this  alarming 
disproportion  our  evolutionary  attitude  towards  crime  is 
certainly  not  the  least  effective.     In  the  end  this  whole  phi- 

1  The  following  statistics  from  a  leading  article  in  the  London  Nation 
of  March  30,  1912,  entitled  The  Breakdown  of  American  Justice,  give  a 
wider  range  to  the  question:  "Since  1885  there  have  been  some  177,000 
murders  and  homicides  in  the  United  States,  but  under  3000  executions. 
In  1885  the  number  of  murders  was  1808;  in  1895  it  had  risen  to  10,500; 
in  1910  it  stood  at  8975.  In  1885  the  number  of  executions  was  108;  in 
189s  it  was  132;  in  1910  it  was  104.  Roughly  speaking,  Americans  are 
now  killing  one  another  at  the  rate  of  over  9000  a  year.  Looking  over  the 
statistics  of  the  past  seven-and-twenty  years,  one  finds  that,  while  execu- 
tions have  remained  virtually  stationary,  murders  and  homicides  have 
multiphed  five-fold.  In  1885  for  every  murderer  executed  seventeen 
murders  were  committed;  in  1895  the  proportion  was  one  to  seventy-nine; 
in  1910  it  was  one  to  eighty-six.  There  are,  indeed,  few  crimes  of  which 
an  American  can  more  safely  be  guilty.  If  he  commits  a  murder  the  odds 
are  more  than  three  to  one  against  his  ever  being  brought  to  trial;  they 
are  more  than  ten  to  one  against  his  being  sentenced  to  imprisonment; 
and,  as  has  been  said,  they  are  more  than  eighty  to  one  against  his  suffering 
the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law.  Those  are  the  chances  officially  ascer- 
tained from  official  statistics,  and  they  apply  to  the  country  as  a  whole 
and  to  all  its  people.  But  it  need  hardly  be  said  that  if  the  murderer  is  a 
white  man  the  odds  in  his  favor  are  very  much  above  the  statistical  aver- 
age, and  very  much  below  them  if  he  is  a  negro.  Only  one  country  in  the 
world,  Mexico,  exceeds  the  American  record  of  murders,  a  record  that  is 
proportionally  five  times  as  great  in  the  United  States  as  in  Austraha,  more 
than  fourteen  times  as  great  as  in  England  and  Wales,  eight  times  as  great 
as  in  Japan,  ten  times  as  great  as  in  Canada,  and  about  twenty-five  times 
as  great  as  in  Germany." 


254  PAUL    ELMER    MORE 

losophy  of  naturalism,  which  bids  us  follow  the  lead  of  some 
blind  self-developing  instinct,  is  subject  to  the  rebuke  uttered 
by  Bishop  Butler  long  ago:  "A  late  author  [Wollaston]  of 
great  and  deserved  reputation  says,  that  to  place  virtue  in 
following  nature,  is  at  best  a  loose  way  to  talk.  And  he  has 
reason  to  say  this,  if  what  I  think  he  intends  to  express,  though 
with  great  decency,  be  true,  that  scarce  any  other  sense  can 
be  put  upon  those  words,  but  acting  as  any  of  the  several 
parts,  without  distinction,  of  a  man's  nature  happened  most 
to  incline  him." 

In  these  practical  and,  perhaps,  debatable  applications  we 
may  seem  to  have  got  far  away  from  the  man  whom  I  upheld  as 
the  typical  spokesman  of  philosophical  science.  In  fact  the 
rational  hypothesis  of  evolution  as  proclaimed  by  Huxley  was, 
superficially  considered,  the  very  opposite  of  the  confessedly 
anti-rational  hypothesis  that  lends  authority  to  the  doctrine 
of  moral  laissez-faire.  Nevertheless  their  parentage  is  certain, 
and  even  in  Huxley  hints  of  the  derived  philosophy  are  not 
infrequent. 

In  education,  though  Huxley's  interests  were  too  broad 
and  in  some  respects  too  literary  to  permit  a  harsh  condemna- 
tion of  humanities,  yet  all  his  energy  was  devoted  to  intro- 
ducing science  into  the  curriculum  of  the  universities  and 
schools.  No  doubt  his  action  was  justifiable  to  a  certain 
extent  and  redounded  to  the  genuine  profit  of  pure  science; 
but  it  had  also  the  negative  result  at  least  of  starting  that 
transformation  which  has  made  of  our  classrooms  a  nursery 
for  the  sophisms  of  philosophical  science.  He  was  convinced 
that  the  sciences  in  themselves  are  sufficient  for  a  liberal 
education,  and  on  occasion  he  was  ready  to  commend  a  foun- 
dation which  made  "no  provision  for  'mere  literary  instruc- 
tion and  education,'"  meaning  by  this  "the  ordinary  classical 
course  of  our  schools  and  universities."  Biology,  he  thought, 
included  really  the  whole  philosophy  of  life;  and  education 
he  limited  to  "instruction  of  the  intellect  in  the  laws  of  nature." 


HUXLEY  255 

If  there  was  apparent  liberality  in  his  extension  of  these  laws 
of  nature  to  include  "not  merely  things  and  their  forces,  but 
men  and  their  ways,"  there  was  also  in  it  the  germ  of  a 
mischievous  ambiguity. 

In  matters  political  Huxley's  practical  sense  of  affairs  kept 
his  judgment  clearer,  and  I  do  not  know  that  there  is  anything 
in  his  writings  which  contradicts  his  expressed  fear  and  dis- 
like of  "regimentation  and  individualism  —  enforced  Socialism 
and  Anarchy."  He  has  ringing  words  of  rebuke  for  the  whole 
policy  of  drifting  (see,  for  instance,  his  letter  of  March  21,  1886, 
to  a  Member  of  Parliament).  Yet  the  real  tendency  of  his 
ideas  comes  out  plainly  enough  in  his  attitude  towards  female 
suffrage.  He  was  himself  strongly  opposed  to  the  admission  of 
women  into  politics,  holding  for  biological  reasons  a  sharp 
distinction  between  the  spheres  of  the  two  sexes.  Neverthe- 
less, when  he  came  to  deal  directly  with  the  emancipation  of 
women  his  method  was  that  of  the  man  in  the  street.  "Let 
them  have  a  fair  field,"  he  said,  "but  let  them  understand, 
as  the  necessary  correlative,  that  they  are  to  have  no  favour. 
Let  nature  alone  sit  high  above  the  lists,  'rain  influence  and 
judge  the  prize.'" 

The  new  romantic  philosophy  of  evolution  as  a  continuous 
process  of  self-creation  had  scarcely  arisen  to  perturb  the 
rationalism  of  Huxley,  and  he  was  too  stalwartly  intellectual 
to  have  succumbed  to  it  even  if  it  had  been  in  the  air;  yet  the 
outcome  of  his  teaching  was  that  exaltation  of  science  which 
laid  the  minds  of  the  next  generation  open  to  its  alluring 
seduction.  The  final  influence  of  his  words,  if  not  always  his 
avowed  intention,  was  to  establish  the  new  law  of  progress: 
Let  nature  sit  high  above  the  lists;  which  may  be  interpreted 
by  his  own  remark  on  another  occasion:  "The  best  way  of 
getting  disorder  into  order  [is]  to  let  it  alone."  Not  many 
lives  in  the  Victorian  era  were  more  unselfish  than  his,  not 
many  men  pursued  truth  with  a  nobler  devotion,  not  many 
had  broader  and  finer  interests ;  nevertheless,  in  the  end  it 


256  PAUL    ELMER    MORE 

must  be  said,  sadly  and  reverently,  that  his  legacy  to  mankind 
was  confusion  of  ideas  and  relaxation  of  judgment. 

We  have  seen  the  triumphs  of  Huxley  at  Oxford,  the  seat 
of  his  enemies.  Let  us  take  leave  of  this  somewhat  ungrateful 
theme  by  calling  up  another  scene  at  the  same  university. 
In  1864,  there  was  a  Diocesan  Conference  at  Oxford.  There 
chanced  at  this  time  to  be  in  the  neighborhood  a  man  who  was 
neither  priest  nor  scientist,  a  man  given  to  absurd  freaks  of 
intellectual  charlatanry,  yet  showing  at  times  also  such  mar- 
velous and  sudden  penetration  into  the  heart  of  things  as 
comes  only  to  genius.  It  was  Disraeli.  "He  lounged  into 
the  assembly,"  so  the  scene  is  described  by  Froude,  "in  a 
black  velvet  shooting-coat  and  a  wide-awake  hat,  as  if  he  had 
been  accidentally  passing  through  the  town.  .  .  .  He  began 
in  his  usual  affected  manner,  slowly  and  rather  pompously, 
as  if  he  had  nothing  to  say  beyond  perfunctory  platitudes." 
And  then,  turning  to  the  presiding  officer,  the  same  Bishop 
Wilberforce  whom  four  years  earlier  Huxley  had  so  crushingly 
rebuked,  he  uttered  one  of  his  enigmatic  and  unforgettable 
epigrams:  "What  is  the  question  now  placed  before  society 
with  a  glibness  the  most  astounding?  The  question  is  this: 
Is  man  an  ape  or  an  angel?  I,  my  lord,  am  on  the  side  of 
the  angels."  The  audience,  not  kindly  disposed  to  the 
speaker,  applauded  the  words  as  a  jest;  they  were  carried 
the  next  day  over  the  whole  land  by  the  newspapers;  they 
have  often  been  repeated  as  an  example  of  Disraeli's  brilliant 
but  empty  wit.  I  suspect  that  beneath  their  surface  glitter, 
and  hidden  within  their  metaphor  pointed  to  suit  an  Oriental 
taste,  these  words  contain  a  truth  that  shall  some  day  break  to 
pieces  the  new  philosophy  which  Huxley  spent  his  life  so 
devotedly  to  establish. 


EDUCATION   FOR   EFFICIENCY  ^ 

Eugene  Davenport 

It  is  dangerous  to  attempt  to  educate  a  live  boy 
with  no  reference  to  the  vocational.^ 

The  first  general  principle  to  be  recognized  is  this:  That 
industrial  education  cannot  be  considered  by  itself  alone  any- 
more than  industrial  people  can  live  alone.  It  is  at  best  but 
part  of  a  general  scheme  of  education  that  aims  at  a  higher 
efiiciency  of  all  classes  of  people,  and  it  is  in  this  light  that 
industrial  education  should  be  studied  and  its  problems 
solved. 

The  most  significant  educational  fact  to-day  is  that  men  of 
all  classes  have  come  to  look  upon  education  as  a  thing  that 
will  better  their  condition;  and  they  mean  by  that,  first  of 
all,  something  to  make  their  labor  more  effective  and  more 
profitable;  and  second,  they  mean  something  that  will  enable 
them  to  live  fuller  lives.  They  have  no  very  clear  idea  of 
the  methods  for  bringing  it  all  about,  nor  have  they  any  very 
good  means  of  impressing  their  views  and  desires  upon  us  at 
educational  conventions;  but  to  better  their  condition  through 
education  is  the  abiding  faith  and  purpose  of  all  men  every- 
where, and  they  will  persist  until  it  is  realized. 

The  ruling  passion  of  the  race  to-day  is  for  education;  and 
colleges  and  schools  of  all  sorts,  both  public  and  private,  day 
classes    and  night  classes,  winter  and  summer,  are  filled  to 

1  From  Education  for  Efficiency;  copyright.  Reprinted  by  permission 
of  the  author  and  of  D.  C.  Heath  and  Company. 

2  This  chapter  covers  the  general  line  of  thought  developed  by  the 
author  in  an  address  at  the  dedication  of  the  new  agricultural  building  at 
the  University  of  Tennessee,  Knoxville,  May  28,  1909. 


258  EUGENE    DAVENPORT 

overflowing.  The  only  educational  institution  that  is  being 
deserted  is  the  old-time  district  school,  and  that  is  failing 
only  where  it  is  unable  to  satisfy  the  new  demands,  and 
where  this  occurs  its  lineal  successor  is  the  public  high  school, 
which  is  everywhere  becoming  the  favorite  agency  of  modern 
education  of  the  masses  in  America. 

The  training  of  the  young  for  the  duties  of  life  is  no  longer 
left  to  the  charity  of  the  church  nor  to  private  endowment, 
however  munificent. 

We  do  not  ask  a  man  to  pay  the  expense  of  his  own  educa- 
tion, and  we  no  longer  require  the  parent  to  pay  for  the  school 
of  his  child.  We  have  come  to  recognize  that  in  the  last 
analysis  the  child  belongs  to  the  community,  and  public 
welfare  requires  that  he  be  educated.  So  we  have  the  policy 
of  universal  education  well  established  among  us  and  the 
largest  item  of  public  as  well  as  of  private  expense  is  for 
schools. 

Now  this  is  not  sentiment,  it  is  business;  it  is  not  charity, 
it  is  statesmanship.  We  propose  to  maintain  all  sorts  of 
education  for  all  sorts  of  people,  and  to  keep  them  in  school 
as  long  as  we  can  —  so  far  have  we  gone  already  in  this  worship 
of  the  idol  of  our  day  and  time. 

Yes,  truly  the  ruling  passion  of  the  race  is  for  education. 
Individuals  would  amass  wealth;  individuals  would  exert 
influence  and  power;  individuals  would  live  lives  of  luxury 
and  ease,  but  the  common  purpose  of  the  masses  of  men  from 
all  the  walks  of  life  is  a  set  determination  to  acquire  knowledge. 
Daughters  of  washerwomen  graduate  from  the  high  school, 
and  ditchers'  sons  go  to  college  —  not  by  ones  and  twos,  but 
literally  by  hundreds  and  thousands,  and  if  the  ruling  passion 
fails  in  individual  cases,  we  have  a  law  that  puts  the  child 
into  school,  willy-nilly,  on  the  ground  that  to  this  extent, 
at  least,  he  is  public  property. 

Now  what  is  to  be  the  consequence  of  all  this?  What  will 
the  daughter  of  the  washerwoman  do  after  she  has  graduated 


EDUCATION    FOR    EFFICIENCY  259 

from  the  high  school?  Will  she  take  her  mother's  place  at  the 
tub?  What  think  you?  If  not,  how  will  the  washing  be 
done?  and  was  her  schooling  a  blessing  or  a  curse  to  the  com- 
munity? —  because  the  tub  must  stay;  and  if  she  does  take 
her  place  at  the  tub,  was  her  schooling  a  blessing  or  a  curse  to 
her?  Will  the  ditcher's  son  inherit  the  father's  spade?  and  if 
not,  how  will  ditches  be  dug  if  all  men  are  to  be  educated? 
How  will  the  world's  work  get  done  if  education  takes  men  and 
women  out  of  useful  and  needful  occupations  and  makes  them 
over  into  pseudo  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  leisure?  How,  too, 
will  their  own  bills  be  paid  except  they  labor  as  men  have 
always  labored?  It  is  idle  to  say  that  a  portion  of  the  race 
should  be  left  ignorant  that  they  may  perform  the  undesirable 
though  necessary  labor.  The  "portion"  objects,  and  what  are 
we  going  to  do  about  it?  Now  these  are  disagreeable  ques- 
tions, and  we  would  rather  not  be  forced  to  answer  them;  but 
they  are  fundamental,  and  will  soon  begin  to  answer  themselves 
in  some  fashion  under  our  system  of  education,  which  is 
rapidly  becoming  universal. 

We  are  now  engaged  in  the  most  stupendous  educational, 
social,  and  economic  experiment  the  world  has  ever  undertaken 
—  the  experiment  of  universal  education;  and  whether  in 
the  end  universal  education  shall  prove  a  blessing  or  a  curse 
to  us  will  depend  entirely  upon  our  skill  in  handling  the  issues 
it  has  raised  for  our  solution.  We  have  entered  too  far  upon 
this  experiment  ever  to  retire  from  it,  even  if  we  desired  to  do 
so,  which  we  do  not;  and  if  the  outcome  is  to  be  safety  and 
not  anarchy,  and  if  it  is  all  to  result  in  further  development  of 
the  race  and  not  in  retrogression,  then  a  few  fundamentals 
must  soon  be  clearly  recognized  and  brought  into  and  made  a 
part  of  our  educational  ideals,  policies,  and  methods. 

First,  if  we  are  to  have  universal  education,  it  must  contain 
a  large  element  of  the  vocational,  because  all  the  needful 
activities  must  l)e  maintained  in  the  educated  state  as  here- 
tofore.    The  race  cannot  progress  any  more  in   the  future 


26o  EUGENE    DAVENPORT 

than  in  the  past  except  by  the  expenditure  of  large  amounts 
of  human  energy.  This  being  so,  education  cannot  be  looked 
upon  as  an  avenue  to  a  life  of  ease,  or  as  a  means  of  giving 
one  man  an  advantage  over  another,  whereby  he  may  exist 
upon  the  fruit  of  that  other's  labor  and  the  sweat  of  that  other's 
brow.  It  might  do  for  a  few;  it  cannot  do  for  the  mass,  whose 
efficiency  must  be  increased  and  not  decreased  by  education; 
because  in  the  last  analysis  education  is  a  public  as  well  as  a 
personal  matter,  and  the  interests  of  the  state  require  that  the 
ratio  of  individual  efficiency  in  all  lines  shall  be  constantly 
increased. 

Second,  within  the  limits  of  needful  activities  one  occupa- 
tion is  as  important  as  another,  and  a  system  of  universal 
education  must  enrich  them  all,  or  the  end  will  be  disastrous. 
We  need  to  change  our  views  concerning  what  have  been 
regarded  as  menial  employments.  In  the  millennium  no 
woman  will  make  her  living  over  the  washtub,  nor  will  she 
sing  the  song  of  the  shirt  day  and  night  forever;  but  neither 
will  education  and  .elevation  free  her,  or  any  one  else,  from  a 
fair  share  of  the  drudgery  of  life,  because  the  needful  things 
must  still  be  done.  Nor  must  we  fail  to  remind  ourselves 
that  not  all  the  labor  of  the  world  is  at  the  washtub,  or  at  the 
bottom  of  the  ditch,  because  success  in  any  calling  is  the  price 
of  unremitting  and  exhausting  toil,  against  which  education 
is  no  insurance  whatever.  It  can  only  promise  that  faithful 
labor  shall  have  its  adequate  and  sure  reward.  And  that 
is  enough,  for  no  man  has  a  right  to  ask  that  he  be  freed  from 
labor  on  this  earth;  he  can  only  pray  to  be  relieved  from  the 
burden  of  aimless  and  fruitless  drudgery  —  which  is  the 
blessed  assurance  of  education. 

While  education  is  no  relief  from  labor,  or  even  drudgery, 
it  ought,  however,  to  lessen  the  totality  of  drudgery  by 
the  further  utilization  of  mechanical  energy  and  the  more 
economic  and  intelligent  direction  of  human  effort.  Educa- 
tion will  never  fully  justify  itself  until  this  shall  have  been 


EDUCATION    FOR    EFFICIENCY  261 

accomplished  and  the  human  machine  be  Uberated  from  the 
last  form  of  slavery  —  the  drudgery  that  is  born  of  ignorance. 

No  man,  then,  educated  or  uneducated,  has  a  right  to  be 
useless.  Most  men  will  continue  to  earn  and  ought  to  earn, 
in  one  way  or  another,  the  funds  to  pay  their  bills,  and  in  this 
natural  way  will  the  world's  work  get  done  in  the  future  as 
in  the  past.  The  education  of  all  men,  therefore,  is,  or  should 
be,  in  a  broad  sense  vocational,  and  the  so-called  learned 
professions  are  but  other  names  for  developed  industries. 
In  this  broad  sense  every  useful  activity  is  included,  from 
farming  to  music  and  painting,  poetry  and  sculpture;  from 
engineering  to  medicine  and  law,  philosophy  and  theology; 
as  wide  and  as  varied  as  the  activities  and  capacities  of  the 
human  race  —  so  wide  and  so  varied  must  our  education  be 
if  it  is  to  be  universal  and  be  safe. 

Measured  by  this  standard,  farming  has  the  same  claims 
upon  education  as  have  language  and  literature,  but  no  more; 
for  both  are  useful,  or  may  be,  though  in  different  ways. 
Which  is  more  useful  we  cannot  tell  any  more  than  we  can  tell 
whether  food  or  religion  is  the  more  essential  to  human  life; 
or  whether  art  or  industry  contributes  most  to  its  fullest 
development.  We  only  know  that  all  things  within  the  range 
of  human  capacity  are  useful,  and  that  education  may,  if 
it  will,  enrich  them  all. 

Now  this  demand  is  right,  for,  unless  universal  education 
can  be  so  administered  as  not  greatly  to  disturb  the  relations 
of  needful  activities,  it  will  prove  in  the  end  a  curse  instead  of 
a  blessing,  and  it  is  the  business  of  educators  now  soberly 
to  consider  the  consequences  of  headlong  policies,  however 
promising  in  direct  results,  if  they  do  not  reckon  with  the 
inevitable  outcome. 

Third,  in  the  working  out  of  these  plans  such  policies  and 
methods  must  be  observed  as  shall  prevent  social  cleavage 
along  vocational  lines.  Unless  we  can  do  this,  democracy 
will,  in  the  end,  fail.     We  cannot  go  on  with  one  half  of  the 


262  EUGENE    DAVENPORT 

people  educated  and  the  other  half  ignorant,  any  more  than 
we  could  live  with  one  half  free  and  the  other  half  slave.  No 
more  can  we  live  with  one  half  educated  to  one  set  of  ideals 
and  the  other  half  to  another.  If  we  attempt  it,  we  shall 
have,  in  due  time,  not  civilization  —  but  a  tug  of  war  between 
highly  educated  but  mutually  destructive  human  energies. 
The  only  safety  for  us  now  is  in  the  education  of  all  classes 
to  common  ideals  of  individual  efficiency  and  public  service 
along  needful  lines  and  with  common  standards  of  citizenship. 
To  this  end  the  individual  must  have  training,  both  vocational 
and  humanistic,  and  it  is  better  if  he  does  not  know  just 
when  or  how  he  is  getting  either  the  one  or  the  other. 

Fourth,  remembering  that  what  is  one  man's  vocation  is 
another's  avocation,  and  that  what  is  technical  and  profes- 
sional to  one  is  humanistic  to  another ;  remembering  that  all 
study  is  educational  and  that  utility  does  not  lessen  its  value; 
remembering,  too,  that  much  of  our  education  comes  from 
association  and  that  the  best  of  it  comes  in  no  other  way  — 
remembering  all  these  and  many  other  considerations  well 
known  to  the  thinking  man,  we  must  agree  that  in  a  system 
of  universal  education  the  best  results  will  always  follow  when 
as  many  subjects  as  possible  and  as  many  vocations  as  may  be 
are  taught  together  in  the  same  school,  under  the  same  manage- 
ment and  to  the  same  body  of  men.  In  no  other  way  can  a 
perfectly  homogeneous  population  be  secured.  In  no  other 
way  can  universal  efficiency  be  so  closely  combined  with  good 
citizenship.  In  no  other  way  can  activity  and  learning  be 
so  intimately  united.  In  no  other  way  can  morals  and  good 
government  be  so  safely  intrusted  to  a  free  people. 

As  I  see  it,  the  greatest  hindrance  to  the  natural  evolution  of 
a  single  system  of  schools  adapted  to  the  education  of  all 
classes  of  our  people  is  academic  tradition  which  needs 
substantial  modification  in  a  number  of  important  par- 
ticulars. 

The  truth  is,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  "general  education," 


EDUCATION    FOR    EFFICIENCY  263 

except  one  that  fits  for  nothing  in  particular,  leaving  the  pos- 
sessor stranded  without  occupation  or  other  field  for  the 
exercise  of  his  trained  activities.  In  so  far  as  this  type  of 
general  education  exists  among  us,  the  quicker  we  abolish 
it  the  better.  For  example,  it  has  been  fashionable  to  speak 
of  the  courses  in  the  arts  and  sciences  as  "general,"  "non- 
technical," or  "liberal,"  using  the  terms  synonymously  and 
as  opposed  to  the  technical  or  professional. 

Now  this  is  inaccurate  and  leads  to  much  confusion  of  mind. 
Courses  in  the  arts  and  sciences  are  not  by  nature  general 
and  non-technical,  because  an  examination  of  the  facts  will 
discover  that  most  of  the  students  taking  those  courses  in 
colleges  are  taking  them  for  professional  purposes  in  prepara- 
tion for  definite  careers,  generally  teaching;  possibly  banking, 
railroad  administration,  or  the  business  of  an  analytical  or 
manufacturing  chemist  or  some  other  gainful  occupation. 
That  is  to  say,  the  courses  in  the  arts  and  sciences  are  mostly 
taken  as  professional  or  vocational  courses  the  same  as  are 
those  in  engineering  and  agriculture. 

The  best  evidence  of  this  erroneous  use  of  terms  is  that 
those  who  make  most  of  the  distinction  between  the  technical 
and  the  non- technical  courses;  those  who  talk  most  about 
the  latter  being  liberal  as  distinct  from  the  former;  those 
who  outcry  loudest  against  commercializing  education  are 
teachers  themselves,  who  are  earning  money  like  farmers. 
Now  by  what  rule  do  we  adjudge  that  farming  is  a  calling 
and  teaching  a  profession?  that  engineering  is  industrial  and 
journalism  liberal?  that  courses  fitting  for  farming  are  technical 
and  narrow,  and  those  fitting  for  teaching  or  making  chemical 
determinations  are  general  and  liberal?  The  truth  is  they  are 
all  alike  vocational;  they  are  all  professional;  they  all  open 
avenues  whereby  men  and  women  earn  money  to  pay  their 
bills,  and  ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  of  those  who  are  good 
for  anything  in  any  and  all  these  courses  are  taking  them  for 
the  same  purpose,  viz.  to  afford  a  congenial  field  of  activity 


264  EUGENE    DAVENPORT 

whereby  the  individual  may  become  a  worthy  and  self-sustain- 
ing member  of  society. 

The  truth  is  that  the  distinction  between  the  technical  and 
the  non-technical,  the  professional  and  the  non-professional, 
the  narrow  and  the  liberal,  does  not  inhere  in  courses  of  study 
leading  to  graduation,  for  the  same  subject  may  be  either  the 
one  or  the  other  according  to  the  point  of  view  of  the  student 
and  the  purpose  for  which  it  is  taken.  For  example,  chemistry 
per  se  is  neither  technical  nor  non-technical,  narrow  nor  liberal. 
It  is  a  great  field  of  science.  As  explored  and  studied  by  an 
agricultural  student,  or  by  one  who  proposes  to  make  his 
living  as  an  analytical  or  a  manufacturing  chemist  —  to 
them  it  is  a  technical  subject,  while  to  the  student  of  literature 
it  becomes  a  non-technical  and  therefore  a  liberal  subject, 
because  it  liberalizes  him  and  broadens  his  outlook  upon  the 
world  and  helps  to  connect  him  with  the  farmer  and  manu- 
facturing chemist.  To  the  prospective  teacher  it  becomes 
technical  or  non-technical;  vocational  or  non-vocational, 
according  as  he  proposes  or  does  not  propose  to  teach  it. 
To  the  farmer,  chemistry  is  a  technical  subject,  and  literature 
and  history  non-technical,  and  therefore  liberal.  To  the 
teacher  of  history,  conditions  would  be  reversed. 

Another  academic  reform  is  to  get  over  our  horror  of  the 
vocational.  The  old-line  courses  were  as  distinctly  vocational 
to  the  learned  professions  as  are  the  newer  courses  to  the 
industrial  occupations.  The  services  of  education  to  the 
industries  of  life  and  the  ordinary  occupations  of  men  have 
been  so  recent  that  final  adjustments  are  not  yet  made.  We 
are  only  gradually  beginning  to  learn  that  every  useful  man, 
educated  or  uneducated,  has  a  calling  and  that  the  hne  be- 
tween the  technical  and  the  non-technical,  between  the 
narrow  and  the  liberal,  runs  across  individuals,  not  between 
them.  Every  properly  educated  man  is  trained  both  vocationally 
and  liberally,  but  one  vocation  is  not  necessarily  more  liberal 
than  another  except  as  the  practitioner  makes  it  so.     To  sue- 


EDUCATION    FOR    EFFICIENCY  265 

ceed  in  any  calling  requires  the  possession  of  a  body  of  specific 
knowledge  relating  directly  to  that  calling,  mostly  useless 
professionally  to  one  of  another  calling,  but  far  from  useless 
as  a  liberalizer. 

Every  man,  to  be  efficient,  needs  the  vocational;  to  be 
happy  and  safe  he  needs  the  other.  John  Bessmer  was  a 
barber  and  made  his  living  by  his  scissors,  but  meteorology 
was  his  avocation.  He  was  the  best  barber  I  ever  knew,  but 
he  talked  most  about  meteorology.  The  ditcher  will  not  ditch 
all  his  waking  hours.  What  will  he  think  about  when  he  is 
awake  and  not  in  the  ditch?  Then  is  when  his  avocation, 
the  liberal  part  of  his  education,  is  his  comfort  and  our  safety, 
for  the  mind  is  an  unruly  member,  and  if  the  man  has  no 
training  beyond  his  vocation,  his  intellect  is  at  sea,  without 
chart,  compass,  or  rudder,  and  the  human  mind  adrift  is  a 
dangerous  engine  of  destruction. 

It  is  well  that  we  who  are  bent  most  upon  industrial  train- 
ing and  development  do  not  forget  these  considerations,  and 
in  our  enthusiasm  for  technical  instruction  we  see  to  it  also 
that  every  individual  has  a  fair  share  of  the  liberal  as  well, 
for  the  chief  distinction  of  the  educated  man  is,  after  all,  his 
ability  to  view  the  world  from  a  standpoint  broader  than 
his  own  surroundings. 

Another  relic  of  academic  ancient  history  that  ought  to  be 
eliminated  is  that  habit  of  thought  which  runs  in  the  form  of 
set  courses  of  study  four  years  long.  This  habit  of  thought 
has  stood  in  the  way  of  the  proper  and  adequate  development 
of  agriculture  in  our  colleges,  and  it  is  now  standing  in  the 
way  of  high-school  differentiation  and  the  development  of 
industrial  courses  therein. 

For  example,  it  has  been  assumed  without  discussion  that 
a  student  desiring  instruction  in  agriculture  must  enter  upon 
a  set  course  for  four  years,  and  that  unless  he  graduated  he 
had  somehow  failed,  or  the  course  was  too  long.  It  never 
seemed  to  occur  to  our  educational  fathers  and  grandfathers 


266  EUGENE    DAVENPORT 

that  perhaps  the  course  was  not  adapted  to  his  needs  any 
more  than  it  seems  to  occur  to  some  of  our  contemporaries 
that  men  go  to  school  to  study  subjects,  not  set  courses,  and 
that  the  benefits  of  our  instruction  are  by  no  means  confined 
to  those  who  graduate. 

There  is  nothing  sacred  about  four  years,  or  about  a  par- 
ticular association  of  subjects.  We  must  get  over  our  fetish 
worship  of  what  we  call  a  "course  of  study"  and  bestow  our 
attention  upon  "courses  of  instruction."  Our  somewhat 
uniform  failure  to  do  this  has  been  responsible  for  much 
special  and  unnecessary  limitation  in  the  subject  of  agriculture. 
Let  me  illustrate:  A  good  friend  some  months  ago  asked  me 
this  question:  "Why  do  you  not  have  a  two-years  course  in 
agriculture  in  the  University  of  Illinois?  "  I  replied  by  asking, 
"Tell  me  first  why  do  you  have  one  in  your  university?"  He 
replied,  "Because  many  young  men  cannot,  or  will  not  stay, 
for  a  four-years  course."  And  I  said,  "Then  of  course  you 
have  also  two-year  courses  in  the  arts  and  sciences,  and  in 
engineering."  And  he  said  with  an  elevation  of  the  eyebrows, 
very  significant,  "No,  of  course  not."  Then  I  said,  "Why 
not?  Do  all  or  most  of  your  students  in  the  other  colleges 
remain  and  complete  four-year  courses?"  He  had  to  answer, 
"No,  not  a  third  of  them."  I  think  I  had  answered  his  ques- 
tion, but  to  make  sure  I  said,  "When  the  other  colleges  of 
the  University  of  Illinois  find  it  necessary  or  desirable  to  put 
in  two-year  courses  because  not  more  than  one  student  in 
three  or  four  stays  to  graduate,  then  I  suppose  we  shall  do  the 
same;  but  until  then  I  think  we  shall  continue  to  teach 
subjects  to  those  who  come,  and  bestow  honors  on  those 
who  have  earned  the  usual  amount  of  credit."  Here  is  a 
good  illustration  of  our  futile  efforts  to  hammer  a  new  subject 
into  line  with  ancient  academic  custom,  as  if  graduation  from 
something,  even  a  two-years  course,  were  the  chief  end  of 
the  schooling  process. 

This  same  old  habit  of  thought  is  the  bane  of  the  high  schools 


EDUCATION    FOR    EFFICIENCY  267 

to-day  in  their  effort  to  serve  the  people.  Many  of  them 
consider  the  limit  reached  when  a  four-years  course  is  offered, 
made  up  largely  out  of  old-line  subjects  with  little  or  no 
reference  to  local  needs,  and  when  we  talk  about  instruction 
in  vocational  subjects  they  remind  us  that  the  "course  is  full." 
This  mistaken  attitude  on  the  part  of  too  many  high  school 
men  will  do  more  than  all  other  causes  combined  to  force  upon 
us  a  multitude  of  separate  technical  schools  and  destroy  the 
opportunity  of  the  high  schools  forever,  because  men  are 
as  firmly  bent  on  vocational  education  of  a  secondary  grade 
to-day  as  their  fathers  were  bent  on  industrial  education  of 
collegiate  grade  half  a  century  ago.  The  same  forces  are  at 
work  in  high  schools  now  as  were  at  work  among  colleges 
then,  and  the  issue  will  be  the  same.  Either  the  high  schools 
will  expand  and  teach  the  vocational,  or  other  schools  will  be 
established  that  will  do  it. 

One  good  friend  whom  I  greatly  honor,  because  he  is  many 
years  my  senior,  and  many  degrees  my  superior  in  every 
sense,  writing  me  on  this  point,  said  in  substance:  "Your 
idea  that  all  subjects  needful  to  the  life  of  the  community 
should  be  taught  in  the  same  school  is  fine  in  theory,  but  how 
are  you  going  to  get  it  all  into  the  course,  and  what  shall  be 
left  out?"  How  this  instinctive  attitude  of  mind  clings  to 
us  academic  people!  It  is  not  much  found  except  among 
professional  educators,  and  with  them  it  is  one  of  the  relics 
of  academic  ancient  history,  dating  back  to  the  time  when  the 
college  provided  a  set  course  for  all  students  and  which,  when 
full,  was  full  in  the  same  sense  that  the  jug  is  full. 

Recently  the  colleges  have  learned  the  lesson  of  the  tremen- 
dous complexity  of  modern  demands,  and  they  are  beginning 
to  realize  something  of  the  depth  and  breadth  of  the  meaning 
of  universal  education;  at  least  that  it  means  the  education 
of  many  men  for  many  things  and  by  means  of  various  mate- 
rials and  methods.  This  involves  many  courses  in  one  school. 
It  requires  that  colleges  teach  subjects  rather  than  set  courses; 


268  EUGENE    DAVENPORT 

and  nothing  is  full  so  long  as  any  branch  of  knowledge  and 
activity  remains  undeveloped  and  men  and  money  hold  out. 
The  colleges  have  learned  this;  it  is  also  the  lesson  for  the 
secondary  schools;  indeed,  in  a  very  large  sense  the  land- 
grant  university  is  the  model  for  the  public  high  school. 

Our  children  look  to  the  schools  to  fit  them  for  the  many 
duties  of  life.  Let  them  not  be  disappointed.  To  this  end 
we  must  construct  such  educational  policies  and  employ  such 
materials  and  methods  as  shall  make  the  school  a  true  picture 
of  life  outside  in  all  its  essential  activities.  To  accomplish 
this  we  must  introduce  vocational  studies  freely,  not  for 
their  pedagogic  influence  but  for  their  own  sake  and  for  the 
professional  skill  and  creative  energy  they  will  give  the  learner. 
We  must  do  this,  too,  without  excluding  the  non-professional 
either  from  the  school  or  from  the  individual. 

Take  a  specific  instance  outside  of  agriculture,  but  one 
which  is  typical  of  thousands  of  cases.  There  are  many  good 
families  whose  daughters  feel  the  need  of  earning  some  little 
money  during  years  of  young  womanhood  between  the  school 
age  and  matrimony.  They  are  good  typical  American  girls, 
worthy  the  love  and  the  service  of  any  man,  and  sometime 
the  hero  will  come.     In  the  meantime,  what? 

We  will  suppose  that  the  girl  in  question  looks  with  favor 
upon  stenography  and  typewriting  as  a  congenial  employment. 
Now  I  put  the  question  flatly,  remembering  there  are  many 
like  her  in  the  same  community,  —  shall  the  high  school  put 
in  courses  of  typewriting  and  stenography  which  she  may  take 
in  connection  with  her  humanistic  studies  and  her  domestic 
science  which  she  will  one  day  need?  —  for  this  typical  girl 
is,  or  should  be,  a  prospective  wife  and  mother.  Will  the 
school  do  this?  or  will  it  force  her  to  leave  her  high  school  in 
order  to  get  elsewhere  this  vocational  training  which  she  thinks 
she  must  have,  because  of  temporary  needs,  and  which  the 
high  school  will  not  give  her  lest  it  should  be  suspected  of 
commercializing  education? 


EDUCATION    FOR    EFFICIENCY  269 

I  am  thankful  that  many  high  schools  are  already  putting 
in  vocational  courses.  May  their  numbers  increase.  It  is 
far  better  to  hold  this  girl  in  the  high  school  and  teach  her 
also  the  things  she  will  one  day  need  much  more  than  she  will 
then  need  her  stenography  and  typewriting,  —  it  is  better 
for  her  and  it  is  better  for  the  community  than  it  is  to  force 
her,  in  early  years  and  under  the  exigency  of  immediate  needs, 
to  abandon  the  greater  for  the  less.  Yes,  it  is  better  to  take 
stenography  and  typewriting,  telegraphy  and  bookkeeping 
into  the  high  school  than  it  is  to  drive  our  girls  out  of  it  even 
into  the  night  schools.  A  proper  policy  at  this  point  will  save 
to  American  wifehood  and  American  homes  thousands  of 
bachelor  maids  and  factory  girls,  and  do  more  to  reduce  the 
ratio  of  divorce  than  any  other  civilizing  force  with  which 
we  hold  acquaintance. 

What  is  true  of  many  girls  is  doubly  true  of  most  boys. 
If  they  are  good  for  anything,  the  impulse  to  be  doing  some- 
thing definite  takes  hold  of  them  early,  and  the  only  way  to 
keep  a  live  boy  in  school  or  to  make  him  good  for  anything 
after  he  leaves  it  is  to  be  certain  that  some  portion  of  his 
curriculum  relates  directly  to  some  form  of  business  activity 
outside.  //  is  dangerous  to  attempt  to  educate  a  live  boy  with 
no  reference  to  the  vocational. 

The  trouble  has  been  in  the  past,  and  is  yet,  that  our  courses 
of  instruction  have  been  too  few.  We  have  not  sufficiently 
distinguished  between  what  a  single  individual  could  take 
and  what  the  community  as  a  whole  ought  to  know.  Accord- 
ingly, men  seeking  education  have  found  much  of  the  subject- 
matter  and  of  the  method  grossly  unsuited  to  the  uses  they 
hoped  to  make  of  it,  and  have  either  left  the  school,  sacrificing 
their  broader  opportunity,  or  have  stayed  to  the  sacrifice  of 
their  efficiency. 

The  universities  have  been  first  to  recognize  this  fact  and 
to  meet  it.  With  the  best  of  them  there  is  no  thought  of  a 
set  course  which  every  individual  must  take,  but  rather  the 


270  EUGENE    DAVENPORT 

aim  is  to  offer  instruction  in  as  many  as  possible  of  the  branches 
of  knowledge  that  interest  and  profit  men.  The  result  is 
that  in  these  institutions  few  men  are  taking  courses  with  a 
fixed  sequence,  but  each  is  after  the  instruction  which  will  best 
fit  his  needs,  and  often  two  men  take  the  same  subject  side 
by  side  with  a  very  different  purpose  and  from  a  very  different 
point  of  view. 

Now  the  efficiency  of  modern  university  education,  espe- 
cially along  new  lines,  is  becoming  notable,  and  institutions 
conducted  upon  this  plan  are  overrun  with  students  seeking 
definite  instruction  for  definite  purposes,  all  of  which  indicates 
the  educational  policy  that  best  meets  the  needs  of  the  people. 
Here  is  the  cue  to  the  general  plan  that  should  characterize 
the  high  schools,  upon  which  educators  ought  to  bestow  some 
degree  of  special  attention,  because  it  is  in  the  secondary 
schools  and  not  in  the  colleges  that  the  American  people  will 
mostly  be  educated. 

A  third  particular  in  which  we  need  academic  reformation 
is  this:  Not  only  college  courses,  but  high  school  courses, 
as  well,  are  planned  and  conducted  almost  solely  in  the  in- 
terest of  the  few  who  graduate,  with  but  little  reference  to 
the  masses  who  drop  by  the  wayside.  If  our  system  of  edu- 
cation is  to  achieve  the  highest  results,  it  must  recognize  the 
natural  difference  in  men,  both  qualitatively  and  quanti- 
tatively, and  while  it  trains  the  brightest  and  best  for  the 
positions  of  most  responsibility  and  therefore  of  honor,  it 
must  so  shape  its  policy  that  those  who  for  any  reason  cannot, 
or  do  not,  remain  to  the  Hmit  of  time,  or  whose  academic 
ability  is  mediocre  shall  drop  naturally  into  useful  places  for 
which  their  little  schooling  has  somewhat  definitely  prepared 
them.  Thus  will  our  human  flotsam  and  jetsam  be  lessened, 
and  thus  shall  we  become  more  homogeneous  as  a  people. 
Thus  too  shall  we  be  consistent,  for  does  not  our  education 
aim  to  be  universal? 

Our  high  schools,  or  rather  their  constituency,  are  suffering 


EDUCATION    FOR    EFFICIENCY  271 

cruelly  at  this  point  to-day.  The  chief  object  in  too  many 
ambitious  schools  is  to  get  on  the  accredited  list  of  as  many 
universities  as  possible,  graduate  as  many  students  as  may  be, 
and  get  them  into  college.  So  intense  is  this  purpose  that 
in  too  many  instances  the  course  of  study  and  the  methods 
of  work  are  inadvertently  but  largely  shaped  in  the  interest 
of  those  who  are  to  graduate,  though  we  know  only  too  well 
that  their  ratio  is  small,  and  that  of  those  who  go  to  college 
it  is  still  smaller. 

It  is  time  the  high  schools  served  the  interests  of  their 
community  first  of  all;  and  if  they  will  do  that  thoroughly, 
the  colleges  will  manage  to  connect  with  them  on  some  terms 
mutually  satisfactory.  If  that  is  impossible,  then  let  the 
high  school  faithfully  discharge  its  natural  functions  to  the 
community  that  gives  it  life  and  support,  and  leave  adjust- 
ments to  the  universities.  The  few  who  go  beyond  the  high 
school  will  be  abundantly  able  to  take  care  of  themselves 
if  only  their  training  has  been  thorough,  and  they  have  learned 
habits  of  efficiency.  I  protest  against  the  reduction  of  the 
American  high  school  to  the  basis  of  a  college  preparatory 
school,  unless  it  is  first  built  upon  what  is  a  rational  education 
for  the  masses  of  men.  We  have  no  right  to  reduce,  impover- 
ish, or  distort  the  educational  opportunity  of  the  great  mass 
of  people  who  depend  upon  the  high  school  for  their  only 
education,  in  the  interest  of  the  few  who  go  to  college. 

We  are  nearing  the  time  when  for  various  reasons  we  shall 
revolutionize  our  secondary  education  as  we  have  already 
revolutionized  our  college  standards.  We  shall  offer  many 
courses  of  instruction  in  many  subjects,  some  vocational, 
others  not;  some  vocational  to  certain  students,  not  so  to 
others,  and  all  in  the  same  school.  We  shall  not  be  on  sound 
ground  in  this  matter  unlil  things  are  so  fixed  that  when  a 
boy  or  girl  comes  into  contact  with  our  school  system  at  any 
point,  even  for  a  short  time,  he  or  she  will  at  once  and  of 
necessity  strike  something  vocational  and  also  something  not 


272  EUGENE    DAVENPORT 

vocational;  to  the  end  that,  however  soon  the  student  leaves 
the  system,  he  will  carry  out  into  life  at  least  something  which 
will  make  him  more  efficient  at  some  point,  and  also  more 
cultivated,  because  the  schools  have  taught  him  something 
of  actual  life,  not  only  in  the  abstract  but  in  its  application. 

The  greatest  trouble  with  our  educational  system  to-day  is 
that  it  is  laid  out  too  much  on  the  plan  of  a  trunk  line  railroad 
without  side  switches  or  way  stations,  but  with  splendid 
terminal  facilities,  so  that  we  send  the  educational  trains 
thundering  over  the  country,  quite  oblivious  of  the  popula- 
tion except  to  take  on  passengers,  and  these  we  take  on  much 
as  the  fast  train  takes  mail  bags  from  the  hood.  We  do  our 
utmost  to  keep  them  aboard,  to  the  end,  and  we  work  so 
exclusively  for  this  purpose  that  those  who  leave  us  are  fitted 
for  no  special  calling,  and  drop  out  for  no  special  purpose, 
but  roll  off  like  chunks  of  coal  by  the  wayside  —  largely  a 
matter  of  luck  as  to  what  becomes  of  them.  I  would  recon- 
struct the  policy  of  the  system  by  making  all  trains  local, 
both  to  take  on  and  leave  off  passengers;  and  I  would  pay 
much  attention  to  the  sidings,  and  the  depots,  and  their 
surroundings  at  the  way  stations,  to  the  end  that  those  who 
do  not  complete  the  journey  may  find  congenial  surroundings 
and  useful  employment  in  some  calling  along  the  line.  I 
mean  by  this  that  while  vocation  should  be  neither  the  end  • 
nor  the  means  of  the  educational  process,  yet  it  should  be 
its  inseparable  concomitant.  This  is  education  for  efficiency 
and  service,  whether  it  ever  earns  an  academic  degree  or  not. 

We  need  not  fear  real  education  for  real  efficiency,  but  we 
may  well  tremble  when  we  see  a  whole  people  gorging  them- 
selves with  a  mass  of  knowledge  that  has  no  application  to 
the  lives  they  are  to  live,  for  this  will  breed  in  the  end  dis- 
satisfaction and  anarchy.  The  best  illustration  of  this  educa- 
tional short-sightedness  is  the  fondness  of  many  a  classically 
educated  colored  brother  for  Latin,  Greek,  and  Hebrew,  not 
so  much  for  what  they  can  do  for  him,  or  help  to  do  for  him- 


EDUCATION    FOR    EFFICIENCY  273 

self  or  others,  as  because  the  acquisition  of  language  is  a 
pleasant  exercise  and  its  possession  a  satisfying  novelty. 
Fortunately  Booker  T.  Washington  and  Tuskegee  are  in 
the  land,  but  unfortunately  our  educational  blunders  are  not 
limited  to  the  colored  race.  It  is  a  notable  and  perhaps 
significant  fact  that  a  very  large  proportion  of  the  tramps  of 
the  country  have  had  the  advantages  of  our  schools. 

Another  point  at  which  our  minds  are  in  danger  of  wander- 
ing far  afield  is  in  regard  to  the  natural  function  of  the  second- 
ary school.  The  American  high  school  is  a  new  institution, 
and  like  all  new  institutions  it  lacks  ideals  and  methods.  It 
has  displaced,  in  the  West  at  least,  the  old-time  academy 
whose  function  it  was  to  fit  for  college.  The  high  school, 
lacking  models,  has  followed  very  largely  and  quite  naturally 
the  plan  of  the  academy  whose  mantle  it  has  inherited.  In  this 
it  has  erred.  The  modern  high  school  is  not  the  lineal  descen- 
dant of  the  old-time  academy,  and  its  primary  fuyiction  is  not  to 
fit  for  college.  It  is  a  new  institution,  and  its  function  is  to 
educate  its  natural  and  local  constituency  for  the  duties  of  life. 
It  is  as  thoroughly  a  public  institution  as  is  the  state  university 
and  it  should  serve  its  community  in  the  same  way  and  with  the 
same  spirit  that  the  university  serves  the  larger  and  more  complex 
unit. 

It  is  the  first  business  of  the  high  schools  to  serve  the  public 
needs  directly  through  the  masses  of  men  and  women  who 
constitute  their  natural  constituency,  not  indirectly  through 
the  colleges.  Their  service  to  education  and  to  civilization  is 
primary,  fundamental,  and  direct,  not  secondary  and  pre- 
paratory. Nor  in  saying  this  do  I  reflect  upon  the  great 
work  of  our  institutions  of  highest  learning;  far  from  it. 
No  man  can  exceed  me  in  admiration  of  the  supreme  service 
of  the  colleges  and  the  universities  of  the  country,  but  that 
supreme  service  must  be  rendered  without  overshadowing, 
distorting,  or  injuring  that  other  service,  which,  after  all,  is 
more  direct,  reaches  a  larger  number,  and  without  which  the 


274  EUGENE    DAVENPORT 

influences  of  the  colleges  and  universities  will  be  largely- 
dissipated  and  lost. 

If  the  existing  high  schools  will  earnestly  address  them- 
selves to  this  great  duty,  they  will  become,  next  to  the  church, 
the  most  powerful  educating  and  elevating  agencies  of  our 
civilization;  but  if  they  do  not,  then  as  sure  as  time  passes 
another  system  of  schools  will  arise  that  will  do  it,  and  the 
time  will  not  be  long  hence  until  they  will  divide  the  field 
with  technical  schools  and  play  a  losing  game  of  chance  with 
them.  The  first  independent  schools  will  be  trade  schools 
in  the  cities  and  agricultural  schools  in  the  country,  and  this 
lead  will  be  followed  by  others  until  we  shall  have  a  whole 
system  of  vocational  schools  of  all  conceivable  sorts;  and  the 
high  schools  will  be  stripped,  first  of  one  opportunity  to  serve 
their  constituency  and  then  of  another,  until  their  usefulness 
will  be  lessened,  if  not  entirely  destroyed  in  the  eyes  of  the 
people,  who  alone  can  support  them,  and  they  will  be  relegated 
to  girls'  schools  and  training  schools  for  college  admission. 

This  is  no  fanciful  picture,  and  I  am  convinced  that  unless 
we  are  quick  to  read  and  heed  the  handwriting  on  the  wall 
to-day  the  next  decade  or  two  will  witness  the  permanent 
decline  of  the  high  school  under  the  onslaught  of  the  multi- 
tude of  independent  vocational  schools  that  will  spring  up 
everywhere  and  which  will  seem  to  serve  well  because  the 
service  is  direct  and  plainly  useful.  The  only  great  future 
for  the  high  school  is  to  add  vocational  work,  making  the 
separate  technical  school  unnecessary,  if  not  impossible.  If 
they  will  do  this,  their  future  and  their  service  are  assured; 
but  if  the  people  find  it  necessary  to  establish  another  system 
of  secondary  education  as  they  did  a  new  system  of  collegiate 
grade,  then  they  will  do  it;  but  if  they  do,  they  will  certainly 
insist  upon  a  fair  division  of  the  revenues,  because  modern 
high  schools  are  not  private  institutions  as  were  the  old- 
time  colleges;  they  are  in  every  sense  of  the  term  public 
institutions. 


EDUCATION    FOR    EFFICIENCY  275 

Experience  in  university  circles  has  shown  that  the  separate 
professional  college  was  necessary  in  the  past  only  because  of 
the  indifference  to  new  demands  of  the  institutions  then 
existing.  As  soon,  however,  as  the  universities  seriously  set 
about  studying  the  new  problem  from  their  own  standpoint 
it  was  found  that  there  was  really  nothing  incompatible  be- 
tween the  old  and  the  new  ideals,  but  rather  that  it  took  the 
two  together  to  make  a  complete  system  of  education,  and 
where  the  two  have  been  already  joined,  —  the  professional 
and  the  cultural,  the  industrial  and  the  humanistic,  —  there 
has  education  flourished  best  in  the  last  decade;  there  is  the 
educational  impulse  strongest  to-day,  and  there,  if  wise 
counsels  prevail,  will  develop  in  good  time  the  greatest  educa- 
tional strength  and  creative  power  of  this  most  virile  of 
people;  not  only  along  industrial  lines,  but  along  artistic  and 
humanistic  lines  as  well. 

If  the  high  schools  make  the  most  of  their  opportunity, 
they  will  develop  into  a  great  system  capable  of  training  the 
masses  of  our  people  not  only  industrially  but  for  all  the 
duties  of  life,  and  in  a  way  that  can  never  be  equaled  by  any 
multiple  system  of  separate  vocational  schools,  however  well 
established  and  conducted.  One  school  with  many  courses, 
not  many  schools  with  different  courses  —  that  is  the  plan 
for  American  secondary  education.  Such  a  school  would  be 
large  enough  and  strong  enough  to  afford  an  excellent  educa- 
tion within  walking  or  driving  distance  of  every  young  person 
—  an  ideal  not  attainable  by  any  system  of  separate  schools 
that  can  ever  be  established.  I  have  unlimited  faith  in  the 
final  development  of  the  high  school,  and  cannot  condemn 
in  terms  too  strong  a  pessimistic  or  a  carping  spirit  toward 
this  new  and  remarkable  system  of  education  at  the  very 
doors  of  the  people;  and  I  cannot  oppose  too  strongly  any 
and  all  influences  that  tend  to  make  its  proper  evolution 
either  impossible  or  more  difficult. 

We   must   not   underrate   the   importance   of   the   average 


276  EUGENE    DAVENPORT 

citizen,  either  to  himself  or  to  the  community,  for  the  common 
man  with  an  opportunity  is  a  common  man  no  longer.  If 
we  would  know  what  a  community  of  common  people  can 
do  when  it  addresses  itself  seriously  and  en  masse  to  a  single 
purpose,  consider  the  success  of  that  little  German  village  in 
breeding  canaries,  marvel  upon  the  achievements  in  the  Pas- 
sion Play  at  Oberammergau,  or  even  the  singing  of  the  Messiah 
in  that  little  Swedish  village  of  Kansas,  as  described  in  a 
recent  Outlook. 

Remembering  what  the  common  man  may  do,  with  proper 
ideals  and  advantages,  there  is  no  higher  duty  now  resting 
upon  all  of  us,  and  especially  upon  educators,  than  to  unite 
education  and  activity  by  the  closest  possible  bonds,  to 
prevent  on  the  one  hand  the  acquirement  of  knowledge  to 
no  purpose,  and  on  the  other  the  development  of  operative 
skill  with  little  knowledge  of  the  true  relations  of  things; 
to  see  to  it  that  no  individual  shall  be  compelled  to  choose 
between  an  education  without  a  vocation,  and  a  vocation 
without  an  education.  This  supreme  responsibiUty  rests 
heavily  upon  every  American  community  just  now,  and  in 
our  enthusiasm  for  education  that  is  useful  it  is  well  if  we 
temper  our  enthusiasm  with  judgment  and  keep  always  in 
mind  the  fundamentals  on  which  all  real  education  must 
rest.  If  this  be  true,  it  is  imperative  that  the  high  school  as 
an  educational  institution  should  take  hold  of  and  care  for 
all  the  essential  activities  of  its  community;  and  if  the  clay 
working  or  some  other  interest  develop  into  a  separate  organi- 
zation with  a  separate  plant,  that  it  still  be  under  the  control 
of  the  high  school,  as  the  different  colleges  of  a  university  are 
under  one  control,  and  their  policies  and  aims,  though  different, 
are  yet  harmonized  into  a  common  purpose  of  training  for 
actual,  not  apparent,  efficiency. 

To  teach  all  subjects  to  all  men  in  the  same  school  —  this  is 
the  great  educational,  social,  and  economic  opportunity  of 
America,  where  both  collegiate  and  secondary  education  are 


EDUCATION    FOR    EFFICIENCY  277 

in  the  hands  of  the  general  public  and  not  of  any  sect,  class, 
or  faction.  If  we  throw  away  this  natural  advantage,  bought 
with  blood  and  treasure,  or  if  we  neglect  to  make  the  most 
of  it,  we  are  guilty  before  the  nation  and  the  race  of  a  breach 
of  trust  second  only  to  the  sin  of  treason. 

If  we  follow  precedent  blindly  and  transport  that  alien 
institution,  the  European  trade  school,  and  transplant  it  into 
the  free  soil  of  America  simply  because  it  is  temporarily 
easier  than  to  complete  the  system  we  have  so  splendidly 
begun,  then  sha.ll  we  commit  an  educational  blunder  that  is 
inexcusable,  and  we  shall  richly  deserve  the  anathemas  that 
will  be  ours  from  generations  yet  unborn  when  they  come  to 
see  the  handicap  we  have  laid  upon  them  and  the  natural 
advantages  we  have  sacrificed. 

I  would  have  it  so  that  the  occupation  of  an  American 
citizen  may  not  be  known  by  his  dress,  his  manner,  his  speech, 
or  his  prejudices.  If  we  can  realize  this  ideal,  it  will  be  to 
our  perpetual  advantage,  for  it  will  insure  not  only  our  eco- 
nomic independence  but  our  social  comfort,  our  racial  progress, 
and  our  national  safety.  If  all  this  is  to  come  about,  we 
have  some  thinking  to  do  now,  for,  as  I  have  remarked  else- 
where, more  depends  on  what  we  do  now,  than  can  depend 
upon  what  we  or  others  think  and  say  and  try  to  do  twenty- 
five  or  fifty  years  from  now. 

When  the  materials  for  American  educational  history  are 
all  gathered,  and  when  time  enough  has  elapsed  for  its  various 
elements  to  assume  their  true  proportions  and  perspective, 
it  will  be  found  that  the  most  significant  fact  in  the  educa- 
tional movement  of  our  day  and  time  was  the  agitation  that 
led  up  to  the  establishment  of  the  state  university. 

In  a  very  large  sense  the  founding  of  that  unique  institution 
of  learning  introduced  two  new  and  distinctive  elements  into 
our  philosophy  of  education,  both  of  which  bid  fair  to  be 
permanent,  and  to  control  even  to  the  extent  of  revolutioniz- 
ing our  educational  ideals. 


278  EUGENE    DAVENPORT 

The  first  of  these  fundamental  doctrines  was  this  —  that 
no  single  class  of  men  and  no  single  class  of  subjects  should 
dominate  the  educational  policies  of  this  people;  and  the 
second  was  that  in  the  last  analysis  higher  education  is  a 
public  and  not  a  personal  matter. 

The  state  universities  were  established  primarily  to  teach 
the  branches  of  knowledge  especially  related  to  the  industries 
of  life;  but  their  field  has  broadened  in  the  doing,  and  their 
success  has  shown  not  only  that  learning  may  be  useful  with- 
out losing  its  educative  value,  but  that  all  branches  of  learning 
are  both  useful  and  educative,  and  thereby  worthy  of  being 
taught  to  somebody;  that  in  the  interest  of  the  public  it  is 
the  business  of  a  school  as  of  a  university  to  teach  more  things 
than  any  single  man  may  desire  to  know,  and  that  it  is  the 
business  of  our  institutions  of  learning  to  reflect  in  their 
laboratories  and  in  their  classrooms  the  life  and  essential 
activities  of  our  civilization,  at  least  in  all  its  major 
aspects. 

The  other  new  idea  introduced  through  the  state  university 
is  that  education  is  first  of  all  a  public  rather  than  a  personal 
matter.  Colleges  had  long  been  maintained  for  the  con- 
venience of  those  who  desired  and  were  able  to  pay  for  an 
education,  and  those  who  took  these  courses  did  so  with  a 
view  to  bettering  their  condition  personally.  While  the 
campaign  for  industrial  education  savored  largely  of  personal 
needs  and  class  equality  in  educational  opportunity,  yet  in 
its  working  out  we  have  discovered  the  deeper  principle; 
viz.  that  the  public  is  not  well  served  until  we  educate  freely 
for  all  useful  activities,  to  the  end  that  these  activities  shall 
be  in  the  hands  of  educated  men,  under  whom  only  will  they 
develop  and  by  which  development  only  will  our  civilization 
as  a  whole  prosper  and  progress.  The  ultimate  purpose  of  a 
great  system  of  education  is  and  must  be  the  development 
of  human  activities,  both  industrial  and  non-industrial,  and 
our  great  demand  upon  the  individuals  that  have  enjoyed  its 


EDUCATION    FOR    EFFICIENCY  279 

advantages  is  service  —  service  in  something,  somewhere; 
anything,  anywhere. 

The  great  mass  of  human  happiness  will  always  arise  out 
of  doing  well  the  common  things  of  life,  and  the  happiness  of 
the  individual  will  lie  in  that  creative  genius  which  does  to-day 
the  same  thing  it  did  yesterday,  but  does  it  better.  All  else 
is  spice  and  seasoning  to  life,  and  as  we  cannot  live  on  cakes 
and  spices,  so  the  enduring  things  will  always  be  the  useful 
things.  There  will  be  no  educated  aristocracy,  for  education 
will  have  a  higher  purpose  than  to  give  one  man  an  advantage 
over  another. 

Every  man's  life  is  a  comedy,  a  tragedy,  or  a  symphony, 
according  as  he  is  educated.  It  was  a  great  thing  when  the 
common  man  first  lifted  up  his  head,  looked  about  him  and 
said,  "I,  too,  will  be  educated."  It  is  our  business  to  see  to 
it  that  that  high  resolve  shall  not  destroy  the  race,  but  shall 
still  further  bless  it. 


THE  FUNCTION  AND  EFFICIENCY  OF  THE 
AGRICULTURAL   COLLEGE i 

Whitman  H.  Jordan 

It  would  be  an  indication  of  ingratitude  and  inappreciation 
if  I  failed  to  acknowledge  at  this  time  the  great  honor  of 
being  elected  to  preside  over  your  deliberations,  an  honor 
commensurate  with  the  distinguished  history  and  eminent 
usefulness  of  this  association.  Because  it  has  been  my  good 
fortune  to  attend  these  meetings  from  their  very  beginning, 
in  addressing  you  on  this  occasion  I  cannot  be  accused  of 
speaking  without  knowledge  and  understanding  if  at  first  I 
refer  in  the  spirit  of  congratulation  to  the  benefits  of  this 
organization,  both  for  those  of  us  who  have  participated  in 
its  deliberations  and  for  the  institutions  which  it  represents. 

Not  the  least  important  outcome  of  these  assemblages  are 
the  personal  relations  that  have  been  established.  The  hand 
clasp  that  has  spanned  a  continent  has  not  only  made  possible 
the  formation  of  friendships  that  have  greatly  enriched  our 
lives,  but  thereby  has  come  a  sympathetic  touch  of  laborers 
in  the  same  field  so  essential  to  unity  of  purpose  and  under- 
standing. We  would  all  feel  impoverished,  personally  and 
officially,  if  there  were  withdrawn  from  the  sum  of  our  life 
experiences  the  beneficent  results  of  the  intercourse  that  these 
meetings  have  afforded. 

Because  we  are  friends  as  well  as  coworkers,  we  keenly 
feel  the  absence  from  our  midst  of  those  who  have  passed  out 
of  life's  activities.  Two  of  the  best  beloved  of  our  long-time 
associates  have  entered  into  their  final  rest  during  the  year 

'  From  Science,  Dec.  8,  191 1.  Reprinted  by  permission  of  the  author 
and  the  publishers. 


THE  AGRICULTURAL  COLLEGE  281 

that  has  passed.  For  many  years  these  gatherings  were 
favored  by  the  gentle  and  refined  presence  of  Matthew  H. 
Buckham,  who  through  a  long  life  of  activity  as  an  educator 
exhibited  the  qualities  of  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman.  May 
many  rise  up  with  a  similar  type  of  mind  and  character  to 
mold  the  intellect  and  purposes  of  coming  generations!  We 
shall  not  forget  the  kindly  spirit,  the  manly  attributes,  the 
singleness  of  purpose  and  the  efficient  service  of  Edward  B. 
Voorhees,  whose  life  and  activities  were  on  a  plane  so  high 
that  they  presented  an  inspiring  example  of  useful  living. 
The  number  remaining  of  those  who  aided  in  founding  and 
building  these  new  educational  agencies  and  who  are  still  in 
active  service  is  small,  and  these  pioneers  in  an  undeveloped 
field  can  but  feel  that  they  are  transferring  to  "other  men 
and  other  minds"  the  abundant  fruit  of  their  labors. 

Again,  this  association  has  been  an  active  and  most  influ- 
ential agency  in  augmenting  the  resources  of  the  institutions 
from  which  you  come,  and  in  developing  and  unifying  their 
administrative  and  pedagogical  methods.  Through  your 
accredited  representatives  an  influence,  national  in  scope,  has 
been  focused  upon  legislation.  The  enlarged  financial  support 
of  the  colleges  and  stations  by  the  federal  government  could 
hardly  have  been  secured  without  your  united  effort,  directed 
along  an  authorized  channel.  You  must  also  recognize  very 
clearly  that  your  annual  discussions  have  been  helpful,  even 
essential,  to  the  wise  solution  of  administrative  and  educa- 
tional problems.  Probably  no  other  influence  has  been  more 
potent  in  hastening  and  shaping  the  far-reaching  readjustment 
that  has  been  effected  during  the  past  few  decades  in  the 
aims  and  methods  of  education,  even  in  our  secondary  schools, 
than  has  the  example  and  propaganda  of  the  institutions 
arising  from  the  first  Morrill  act,  an  influence  to  which  your 
deliberations  have  served  to  give  form  and  purpose. 

But  the  main  reason  for  extending  congratulations  to  you 
at  this  time  is  the  status  and  beneficent  results  of  the  activities 


282  WHITMAN  H.  JORDAN 

here  represented.  It  would  be  easy  to  show  the  marvelous 
growth  of  the  equipment  and  work  of  the  land-grant  colleges 
and  agricultural  experiment  stations  by  the  use  of  statistics 
that  are  almost  startling  in  their  proportions.  I  shall  not 
resort  to  this  method,  however,  for  you  know  the  facts,  and 
besides,  the  prominent  display  of  such  large  figures  savors  of 
showy  parade  or  of  vainglorious  pride.  It  is  enough  to  say 
that  as  a  whole  these  wards  of  the  nation  and  states  are 
liberally  equipped  as  to  buildings,  apparatus  and  funds,  with 
a  disposition  on  the  part  of  the  state  governments  to  provide 
for  increasing  demands  in  these  directions;  students  are  not 
lacking,  practice  both  in  agriculture  and  engineering  is  giving 
respectful  attention  to  your  utterances;  all  this  indeed  because 
after  nearly  five  decades  of  strenuous  and  almost  heart- 
breaking struggle,  whatever  have  been  your  mistakes,  you 
have  demonstrated  your  right  to  exist  and  thereby  have  won 
public  confidence.  The  colleges  and  stations  for  whose  up- 
building you  have  labored  hard  and  loyally  are  now  public 
utilities  of  great  importance.  They  are  an  intelligent  and 
directive  force  in  the  conservation  of  our  resources,  both 
social  and  material.  In  brief,  these  institutions  have  come 
to  be  a  national  asset  of  great  and  permanent  value. 

But  now  that  the  hardships  and  discouragements  incident 
to  the  establishment  of  the  new  and  the  untried  are  past  and 
public  confidence  is  won,  now  that  you  are  reasonably  well 
equipped  and  have  the  plastic  minds  of  thousands  of  young 
men  and  women  with  which  to  work  your  will,  the  time  has 
come  to  ask  this  question:  Are  these  agencies,  established  and 
maintained  by  public  funds,  doing  work  of  a  kind  and  in  a 
manner,  under  the  conditions  which  have  developed,  that  is 
calculated  to  most  fully  promote  public  welfare?  No  one 
will  deny  the  assertion,  I  am  sure,  that  the  colleges  were 
brought  into  existence,  not  for  the  purpose  of  providing  a 
fraction  of  one  per  cent  of  our  young  men  and  women  with 
a  college  education  as  an  individual  favor,  but  to  be  construe- 


THE  AGRICULTURAL   COLLEGE  283 

tive  and  conserving  factors  in  building  and  maintaining  a 
strong  nation.  "The  community  has  come  to  be  convinced 
that  education  is  the  most  competent  means  for  the  preserva- 
tion and  enrichment  of  itself."  With  this  end  in  view,  is 
their  work  wisely  planned  and  directed? 

A  consideration  of  this  comprehensive  question  requires 
that  we  bring  to  mind  the  directions  along  which  the  colleges 
and  stations  exert  their  influence  in  the  exercise  of  their 
proper  functions.     These  directions  are  mainly  three: 

1.  The  public  relations  of  educational  agencies. 

2.  The  enlargement  of  the  body  of  knowledge. 

3.  The  development  of  the  vocational  and  social  efficiency 
of  the  individual. 

It  is  my  purpose  to  direct  your  attention  chiefly  to  ques- 
tions involved  in  the  college  training  of  young  men  and 
women  and  the  development  of  knowledge,  but  I  ask  your 
indulgence  while  I  briefly  refer  to  the  first  phase  of  influence 
which  I  have  mentioned: 

As  to  the  influence  of  the  land-grant  legislation  and  its 
results  upon  the  public  or  governmental  relations  of  educa- 
tional agencies,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  one  of  the  conse- 
quences of  this  legislation  is  a  strong  movement  toward  the 
injection  of  federal  aid,  and  the  federal  control  necessarily, 
accompanying  the  expenditure  of  federal  money,  into  second- 
ary education  that  so  far  has  been  exclusively  supported  and 
controlled  by  the  states.  The  concrete  expression  of  this 
movement  is  the  introduction  into  congress  of  bills  providing 
for  the  annual  expenditure  of  vast  sums  of  federal  money  in 
aid  of  normal  schools  and  high  schools  in  the  various  states. 
The  policy  proposed,  if  made  effective,  would  have  far- 
reaching  results  and  for  this  reason  it  should  be  considered 
by  this  body  in  the  spirit  of  wise  statesmanship  with  reference 
to  ultimate  results  rather  than  on  the  basis  of  any  immediate 
financial  advantage  that  might  accrue  to  states  or  insti- 
tutions. 


284  WHITMAN  H.  JORDAN 

It  is  well  for  us  to  keep  in  mind  this  law  so  well  formulated 
by  an  educator  of  long  experience,  "that  the  efficiency  of 
public  education  becomes  the  greater  as  the  responsibility 
for  carrying  it  forward  is  more  directly  and  immediately 
felt."  This  admirable  expression  of  a  sound  principle  may 
be  supplemented  by  the  statement  that  an  efficient  system  of 
public  education  cannot  be  imposed  upon  a  community  by 
aid  from  without,  but  must  be  gradually  developed  from 
within. 

Moreover,  the  broadcast  precipitous  distribution  of  public 
funds  into  localities  where  there  does  not  exist  the  under- 
standing and  preparation  necessary  to  their  wise  expenditure 
is  sure  to  result  in  lamentable  waste.  This  would  be  a  less 
regrettable  result,  however,  than  the  influence  of  outside  aid 
upon  the  spirit  of  initiative  and  self-dependence  of  the  people, 
in  the  absence  of  which  no  progress  is  made  in  any  enterprise 
whatever.  The  school-district  system  once  widely  in  vogue 
in  the  eastern  states,  where  each  political  unit  was  practically 
a  pure  democracy,  while  expensive,  possessed  certain  ad- 
vantages of  simplicity  and  directness  because  of  the  close 
relation  of  the  citizen  to  the  school.  It  was  a  system  that 
gave  large  latitude  to  the  individual  development  of  boys 
and  girls  and  was  far  removed  from  the  mechanisms  of  highly 
concentrated  systems  that  are  inelastic  and  attempt  to  force 
square  boys  and  girls  through  round  holes.  While  the  old 
system  would  not  meet  existing  conditions,  which,  for  reasons 
of  economy,  require  a  closer  organization  and  a  fuller  concen- 
tration of  authority,  we  should  avoid,  so  far  as  possible,  the 
dangers  of  bureaucracy  in  school  administration  that  are  by 
no  means  unreal.  The  injection  of  federal  aid  and  authority 
into  local  educational  affairs  could  but  increase  the  dangers 
to  educational  freedom  that  always  attend  a  highly  centralized 
administration;  and,  above  all  other  considerations  in  im- 
portance, such  a  policy  is  in  the  direction  of  removing  the 
citizen  too  far  from  his  direct  responsibility,  even  through 


THE  AGRICULTURAL   COLLEGE  285 

taxation,  for  the  maintenance  of  local  institutions.  The 
exercise  of  citizenship,  involving  as  it  should  a  discussion  of 
public  matters  and  a  sacrifice  of  time  and  money,  has  great 
training  value  and  is  an  essential  means  of  attaining  the 
civic  efi&ciency  necessary  to  our  form  of  government.  Have 
we  any  reason  to  doubt  that  the  states  will  provide  for  ad- 
vances in  secondary  education  as  rapidly  as  public  sentiment, 
available  pedagogical  tools  and  opportunity  will  justify  new 
movements?  The  progress  already  made  in  several  states 
indicates  that  we  have  not. 

There  are  those  who  declare  that  the  advance  of  national- 
ism, even  in  the  control  of  education,  is  irresistible.  It  is 
encouraging  to  note  that  there  are  already  signs  of  an  action 
against  this  movement.  Whatever  comes  to  pass,  we  should 
be  warned  that  any  readjustment  of  the  relations  of  govern- 
ment to  education  which  does  not  fully  preserve  the  autonomy 
of  the  states,  and  to  a  reasonable  degree,  of  localities  within 
the  states,  in  the  administration  of  educational  matters,  would 
be  repugnant  to  the  spirit  of  our  institutions,  and  a  revolu- 
tionary and  dangerous  innovation. 

I  shall  introduce  the  other  phases  of  this  discussion  by  the 
assertion  that  the  chief  and  absorbing  aim  of  the  college, 
whether  it  be  subsidized  by  private  endowment  or  by  public 
funds,  should  be  the  training  of  young  men  and  women  in  a 
manner  and  to  a  degree  that  is  consistent  with  well-recognized 
college  standards.  This  statement,  regarded  by  many  as 
expressing  an  obvious  truth,  is  given  prominence  in  this 
connection  not  because  there  is  any  ambiguity  in  the  language 
of  the  first  Morrill  act,  which  specifies  very  clearly  the  func- 
tion of  the  proposed  institutions,  but  because  in  recent  years 
these  colleges  are  moving  with  accelerated  momentum  towards 
agricultural  activities,  costly  in  time  and  money,  that  have 
only  a  remote  relation  to  the  training  of  their  students.  I 
refer  to  public  addresses,  farmers'  institutes,  reading  courses, 
demonstration  work,  railroad-train  instruction,  fair  exhibits. 


286  WHITMAN  H.  JORDAN 

secondary  education  and  similar  efforts  that  just  now 
seem  to  be  increasing  rapidly  in  volume  and  in  their 
demands. 

Because  many  of  these  activities  are  more  or  less  spectacular 
and  are  popular  in  character,  they  certainly  attract  attention 
and  stimulate  interest  both  in  the  agencies  which  participate 
in  them  and  in  the  knowledge  which  it  is  sought  to  impart. 
For  these  reasons  they  are  very  useful.  Doubtless  many  of 
us  upon  whom  is  laid  the  burden  of  administering  the  affairs 
of  the  colleges  and  stations  and  of  securing  the  funds  necessary 
for  their  development  and  maintenance  regard  extension  work 
of  various  kinds  not  only  as  rendering  a  real  public  service, 
but  as  an  efficient  means  of  securing  the  public  favor  that 
insures  generous  support.  It  would  be  an  interesting  problem, 
psychological,  ethical  or  otherwise,  to  determine  in  what 
proportions  altruism  and  expediency  enter  into  the  motives 
that  lie  behind  some  of  our  agricultural  propaganda. 

But,  setting  aside  the  question  of  motives,  there  is  every 
justification  for  declaring  that  in  so  far  as  these  popular 
efforts,  and  secondary  education  within  the  college,  minimize 
academic  efficiency  through  the  diversion  or  limitation  of 
funds,  through  their  absorption  of  the  time  and  energy 
of  teachers  or  through  their  reaction  upon  the  atmosphere  of 
the  college  and  its  standards  of  instruction,  in  so  far  the 
lesser  is  usurping  the  greater.  It  is  fully  recognized  that 
this  assertion  is  antagonistic  to  the  view  that  extension  work 
is  a  function  of  the  agricultural  college  coordinate  with,  and 
of  equal  importance  with,  the  training  of  young  men  and 
women,  to  be  maintained  on  an  equal  footing  as  to  develop- 
ment and  permanence,  and  it  is  so  meant.  It  may  further 
be  said  that  because  of  the  strong  trend  towards  the  popu- 
larization of  agricultural  knowledge  both  within  the  college 
and  station  and  without,  because  of  the  sweep  and  strength 
of  the  agricultural  extension  movement  which  is  taking  such 
diverse  forms  and  is  so  largely  occupying  the  thought  and 


THE  AGRICULTURAL  COLLEGE  287 

energy  of  college  and  station  leaders,  there  has  never  been  a 
more  critical  period  in  the  life  of  the  colleges  and  stations  or 
a  time  in  which  their  efficiency  for  the  accomplishment  of 
their  primal  and  fundamental  purpose  should  be  more  care- 
fully guarded. 

The  gravity  of  the  situation  is  augmented  by  the  fact  that 
the  agricultural  and  business  interests  of  the  country,  alive 
to  the  value  of  our  worth,  are  now  proposing  to  us  what  we 
shall  do  and  are  urging  upon  us  not  only  efforts  of  our  own, 
but  our  active  support  of  new  efforts  that  are  outside  our 
province,  but  to  which  we  are  expected  to  sustain  relations 
of  advice  and  aid.  These  suggestions,  which  sometimes  are 
almost  equivalent  to  demands,  are  certainly  made  in  the 
spirit  of  good  will  and  helpfulness  and  are  always  worthy  of 
our  most  respectful  and  careful  consideration,  but  it  is  seri- 
ously to  be  doubted  whether  popular  conceptions  of  the  aims 
and  methods  of  education  and  inquiry  are  a  safe  basis  on 
which  to  establish  the  policy  that  shall  dominate  the  work 
and  influence  of  either  the  college  or  station. 

The  chief  reason  that  will  here  be  advanced  for  directing 
the  means  and  energy  of  the  land-grant  colleges  along  the 
higher  ranges  of  educational  effort  is  that  under  the  conditions 
now  existing  these  institutions  will  most  fully  promote  public 
welfare  by  devoting  their  resources  mainly  to  preparing  men 
and  women  for  leadership.  Our  social  and  vocational  future 
is  largely  a  matter  of  leadership.  He  is  wildly  Utopian  who 
prophesies  a  day  when  all  the  people,  or  even  a  majority, 
will  possess  the  knowledge  and  ability  necessary  to  a  wise 
discrimination  in  civic  and  economic  affairs.  It  is  equally 
fanciful  to  hope  that  any  large  proportion  of  actual  farmers 
will  ever  be  college-trained.  Secondary  education  must  serve 
the  needs  of  the  great  majority  of  the  occupants  of  the  land. 
In  the  past  the  reaction  of  the  agricultural  college  upon  public 
welfare  has  been  largely  through  men  who  have  become  in- 
vestigators, teachers,  publicists  and  managers  of  large  agricul- 


288  WHITMAN  H.  JORDAN 

tural    enterprises    rather    than    through    the    distribution    of 
practical  farmers. 

What  has  been  true  of  the  past  seems  likely  to  be  increas- 
ingly the  experience  of  the  future,  and  this  fact  in  no  way 
minimizes  the  value  of  the  college  in  agricultural  affairs.  We 
ignore  the  teachings  of  all  human  experience  if  we  look  for 
the  time  when  the  destinies  of  the  nation  and  the  interests  of 
agriculture  or  of  any  vocation  will  not  be  safeguarded  by  a 
small  minority  of  citizens  whose  training  has  placed  them 
outside  the  domination  of  dangerous  sentiment  and  ignorant 
prejudice  and  who  possess  that  power  of  discrimination 
derived  from  a  knowledge  of  fundamental  principles,  without 
which  we  may  not  expect  an  intelligent  and  judicial  con- 
sideration of  either  vocational  or  public  questions. 

Not  only  are  we  greatly  dependent  upon  wise  leadership 
in  both  social  and  industrial  affairs,  but  with  the  college  lies 
the  opportunity  for  its  development.  It  is  among  the  young 
men  and  women  who  seek  the  advantages  of  college  instruc- 
tion that  we  find  those  who,  because  of  ambition  and  capacity, 
constitute  material  with  the  largest  possibilities  of  future 
usefulness.  If  the  college  fails  in  wisely  molding  these  plastic 
minds  it  fails  to  fully  occupy  its  one  great  opportunity,  and 
if,  on  the  other  hand,  the  training  given  is  inadequate  or 
unbalanced  or  in  any  way  less  effective  than  is  reasonably 
possible,  both  the  receptive  student  and  the  public  are  de- 
frauded and  suffer  a  loss  that  can  scarcely  be  made  good. 

Not  all  college  graduates  will  be  leaders,  and  not  all  leaders 
will  possess  a  college  degree;  but  it  is  a  fact  worthy  of  emphasis 
that  the  opportunity  of  the  college  is  with  the  few  and  not 
with  the  many.  Only  a  very  small  proportion  (perhaps  one 
or  two  in  a  hundred)  of  any  generation  of  men  and  women 
will  come  into  extended  contact  with  college  life,  and  these 
few  will  be  the  medium  through  which  the  college  will  render 
its  largest  and  most  effective  service.  The  college  can  never 
come  into  efficient  touch  with  the  many  as  it  does  with  the 


THE  AGRICULTURAL  COLLEGE  289 

few.  Whatever  direct  influence  it  secures  over  the  general 
public  lacks  concentration  and  continuity;  in  fact,  is  diffuse 
and  indefinite.  Experience  and  observation  show  that  a 
discouraging  proportion  of  the  minds  reached  by  the  attempts 
at  popular  instruction  are  either  irresponsive  or  incapable,  and 
the  constructive  value  of  these  efforts  is  not  to  be  compared 
with  the  life-long  example  and  influence  of  those  who  are 
adequately  trained  for  social  and  industrial  leadership. 

There  are  those,  doubtless,  who  believe  that  these  institu- 
tions, supported  by  public  funds,  should  stand  in  especially 
close  relation  to  the  people  and  that  in  order  to  do  the  work 
for  which  they  were  organized  they  should  establish  a  low 
grade  of  admission,  occupy  a  secondary  place  in  our  educa- 
tional scheme,  adhere  closely  to  instruction  of  an  ultra- 
vocational  character  and  engage  extensively  in  agricultural 
propaganda,  leaving  to  the  older  colleges  and  universities  the 
severer  training  that  is  required  in  preparing  men  and  women 
for  the  higher  ranges  of  thought  and  activity.  It  is  to  be 
hoped  that  if  we  have  in  any  measure  adopted  this  policy  we 
shall  move  away  from  it  as  rapidly  as  circumstances  will  per- 
mit. Such  a  policy  is  a  practical  assumption  that  there  is  no 
place  in  the  agricultural  field  for  the  highest  type  of  intellectual 
development  and  equipment,  an  assumption  to  which  no 
well-informed  student  of  social  and  economic  conditions  is 
likely  to  consent.  If  we  also  take  into  consideration  the  fact 
that  the  dignity  and  importance  of  agricultural  opportunities 
receive  little  emphasis  in  those  institutions  where  the  main 
trend  of  thought  and  training  is  in  other  directions,  we  see 
sufficient  reasons  why  the  agricultural  college  should  not 
relegate  to  other  agencies  its  clearly  indicated  function  — 
the  production  of  the  leadership  that  is  needed  for  advancing 
the  interests  of  the  farm. 

And  so,  because  of  the  unsatisfied  demand  for  adequately 
trained  teachers  and  investigators,  because  of  the  complex 
and  difficult  problems  related  to  farm  life  that  insistently 


290  WHITMAN  H.  JORDAN 

face  us,  so  many  of  which  are  unsolved,  because  the  redirection 
and  upbuilding  of  rural-life  institutions  need  for  their  accom- 
plishment the  guidance  of  leaders  of  a  high  order  of  ability, 
and  because  of  the  greatly  increasing  demand  for  service  in 
these  several  directions  which  is  only  partially  met,  should  we 
not  insist  that  the  material  resources  and  the  human  knowl- 
edge at  the  command  of  the  agricultural  college  and  the  plans 
and  purposes  there  nourished  should  be  directed  toward 
sound  inquiry  and  the  training  of  young  men  and  women  for 
such  service  as  will  only  be  rendered  by  the  few.  Until  we 
have  means  beyond  what  can  reasonably  be  expended  in 
increasing  the  efficiency  of  the  colleges  and  stations,  is  it  a 
wise  policy  to  assign  to  other  purposes  funds  that  should  be 
applied  to  securing  and  holding  teachers  and  investigators  of 
large  attainments  and  success,  those  who  are  masters  in  their 
special  fields?  Agriculture  needs  more  of  such  men  and 
should  be  able  to  create  for  them  a  favorable  environment 
for  their  work. 

And  we  now  come  to  a  question  towards  which  this  discus- 
sion has  been  aiming  from  the  very  first.  What  conditions 
should  prevail  in  college  instruction  and  what  results  should 
be  kept  in  view  in  the  training  of  young  men  and  women  for 
vocational  and  social  leadership? 

In  considering  this  question  we  may  well  begin  by  asking 
what  qualities  should  be  possessed  by  those  who  are  to  enter 
effectively  into  the  service  of  agriculture  and  country  life. 
There  can  be  but  one  answer.  They  are  the  same  funda- 
mentally that  are  essential  to  efficiency  and  well-rounded 
success  in  any  calling  or  profession.  If  the  teacher,  the 
investigator,  the  statesman,  the  lawyer  or  the  business  man 
should  possess  integrity  of  thought  and  purpose,  be  able  to 
reason  keenly  and  base  their  reasoning  on  fundamental  and 
well-grounded  principles,  so  should  those  who  are  to  assume 
responsibility  and  leadership  in  agricultural  affairs.  There 
is  no  place  for  loose  thinking  and  the  empiricisms  of  super- 


THE  AGRICULTURAL  COLLEGE  291 

ficial  knowledge  in  the  consideration  of  the  economic  and 
social  problems  pertaining  to  the  open  country.  It  is  hardly 
conceivable,  either,  that  the  college  will  succeed  in  developing 
in  its  students  these  necessary  qualities  by  any  educational 
methods  essentially  different  from  those  commended  by  long 
experience.  The  pedagogical  tools  may  differ  from  the  old 
ones,  but  the  ultimate  result,  if  it  is  worth  while,  will  be  those 
attributes  of  mind  and  character  that  have  long  been  recog- 
nized as  the  distinctive  marks  of  strong  men  and  women. 

As  preliminary  to  a  discussion  of  the  conditions  essential 
to  the  attainment  of  this  result,  we  may  safely  establish 
certain  premises  on  which  to  base  any  contentions  that  may 
follow.  These  premises,  conceded  on  every  hand,  are  the 
following:  first,  the  subject-matter  of  the  classroom  should 
be  concise  and  severely  engage  the  student's  mind;  second, 
the  instruction  given,  in  whatever  field,  should  represent  the 
latest  and  best  conclusions;  third,  this  instruction,  if  it  is  to 
secure  for  the  graduate  an  advantage  over  the  merely  practi- 
cal man,  must  give  a  well-grounded  acquaintance  with  funda- 
mental facts  and  principles;  fourth,  the  college  should  so 
react  upon  the  young  men  and  women  that  come  within  its 
influence  as  to  develop  in  them  high  ideals  of  living. 

There  are  three  factors  that  are  most  intimately  related  to 
these  fundamental  conditions,  the  teacher,  the  curriculum, 
and  as  an  outgrowth  of  these  two  that  somewhat  intangible 
influence  we  call  college  atmosphere. 

What  about  the  larger  of  these  factors,  the  teacher?  It 
should  be  required  of  him  as  one  great  essential  that  he  be  a 
man  of  scholarly  spirit  and  attainments,  and  being  such  he 
should  have  opportunity  for  study  and  reflection.  Is  it  not 
time  to  inquire  whether  we  do  not  need  a  renaissance  of  the 
atmosphere  of  scholarship  in  our  vocational  colleges,  an 
atmosphere  that  must  first  surround  the  teacher,  there  to  be 
breathed  in  by  the  student?  Because  we  have  been  exalting 
the  man  with  a  so-called  practical  touch,  possessed  of  the 


292  WHITMAN  H.  JORDAN 

ability  to  edify  the  farming  public,  through  a  pleasing  way 
of  discussing  practical  subjects  or  who  hustles  about  doing 
things,  is  not  our  vision  of  the  scholar  as  an  essential  factor 
in  agricultural  education  and  inquiry  somewhat  obscured, 
and  if  scholarship  is  to  be  discounted  in  favor  of  qualities 
that  make  for  popularity,  we  may  well  be  solicitous  concern- 
ing the  standards  and  effectiveness  of  agricultural  instruction, 
a  statement  that  is  equally  applicable  to  experiment  stations 
as  instruments  of  research. 

It  is  a  gross  error  to  permit  a  young  man,  or  any  man,  to 
believe  that  success  with  the  people  in  conducting  agricultural 
propaganda,  or  the  possession  of  superficially  built  and  glibly 
expressed  practical  knowledge,  unsupported  by  a  sound  scien- 
tific training,  constitutes  an  adequate  reason  why  he  should 
be  a  member  of  a  college  faculty  or  a  station  staff.  Success 
in  the  energy-consuming  activities  of  the  institute  platform, 
the  fair  exhibit,  the  railroad  train  or  the  demonstration  field 
is  not  an  evidence  of  fitness  for  classroom  or  research  work. 
We  are  guilty  of  a  false  estimate  of  values  when  we  place  a 
salary  premium  or  any  other  premium  on  success  in  distribut- 
ing diluted  information,  however  valuable  this  effort  may  be, 
as  against  the  function  and  influence  of  the  quiet  and  patient 
scholar. 

If  the  college  is  to  nourish  the  moral  character  of  a  student, 
the  teacher  must  be  something  more  than  a  scholar.  Char- 
acter will  not  be  much  influenced  by  directly  aiming  at  such  a 
result  through  the  teaching  of  ethics.  Much  more  potent 
will  be  the  general  tone  or  atmosphere  of  college  halls,  an 
atmosphere  that  emanates  from  the  teacher.  In  his  hands, 
teaching  the  sciences  should  not  only  promote  scientific 
accuracy,  but  should  nourish  integrity  of  thought  and  purpose. 
All  the  exercises  of  the  classroom  should  be  pervaded  by  the 
ethical  spirit.  For  these  reasons  the  standards  by  which  a 
faculty  is  selected  should  include  something  more  than  the 
possession  of  good  character,  and  the  necessary  professional 


THE  AGRICULTURAL   COLLEGE  293 

qualifications.  The  human  attributes  of  the  teacher  are  no 
less  important. 

We  may  consider  certain  dangers  to  college  instruction 
arising  from  extension  work.  This  work  on  the  part  of  the 
college  teacher  is  a  menace  to  his  efficiency,  because  such 
activities  not  only  use  the  physical  energy  that  should  be 
reserved  for  the  classroom,  but  sooner  or  later  they  minimize 
or  destroy  the  habit  of  study  and  the  spirit  of  scholarship. 
The  man  who  serves  for  any  considerable  part  of  his  time  as 
a  purveyor  of  popular  information  is  almost  certain  not  to 
present  to  his  students  the  latest  and  best  knowledge  in  the 
best  way,  or  to  add  much  to  the  stock  of  knowledge. 

Another  danger  to  the  teacher  from  a  diversion  of  his 
thought  to  extension  work  of  the  popular  kind  is  that  unless 
he  possesses  unusual  self-discipline  and  control,  he  will  carry 
to  the  classroom  more  or  less  of  the  loose  and  dilute  phrase- 
ology of  platform  discussion  and  will  to  a  greater  or  less  extent 
depart  from  the  concise  and  severe  terminology  so  essential 
to  the  best  training  conditions. 

These  are  most  unfortunate  results.  We  should  carefully 
guard  and  cherish  the  intellectual  impulses  and  equipment  of 
the  teacher  and  the  investigator,  because  they  are  the  instru- 
ments whose  edge  must  be  fine  if  we  are  to  be  successful  in 
rightly  fashioning  the  minds  and  hearts  of  young  men  and 
women  and  in  laying  open  the  hidden  recesses  of  truth. 

What  has  been  said  concerning  the  qualities  of  the  teacher 
and  the  necessity  for  defending  him  against  the  invasion  of 
outside  duties  applies  with  equal  force  to  the  investigator. 
The  experiment  stations  here  represented,  founded  as  research 
agencies,  have  rendered  splendid  service  to  agriculture  and 
are  now  firmly  established  in  the  confidence  of  the  people. 
Nevertheless,  we  should  not  let  the  popularity  of  these  insti- 
tutions cloud  our  vision  or  confuse  our  estimate  of  the  real 
character  of  their  work.  They  have  mightily  stirred  the  mass 
of    agricultural    knowledge,    have    conducted    an    extensive 


294  WHITMAN  H.  JORDAN 

propaganda  of  existing  information,  have  recast  old  facts 
and  principles  into  new  and  profitable  applications  and  have 
made  some  explorations  of  real  value  into  the  unknown,  all 
of  this  to  the  great  benefit  of  the  farmer  and  his  business. 
But  the  period  through  which  we  have  been  passing  can  justly 
be  characterized  as  much  more  marked  for  its  development 
of  agencies  and  for  its  distribution  of  existing  information 
than  for  its  permanent  additions  to  agricultural  science. 

Moreover,  leaving  out  of  account  the  extensive  dispersion 
of  the  time  and  energy  of  experiment  station  workers  into  the 
highways  and  byways  of  agricultural  extension  and  consider- 
ing only  our  attempts  at  investigation,  it  may  reasonably  be 
doubted  whether,  broadly  speaking,  our  efforts  of  inquiry 
have  been  conducted  on  a  plane  of  spirit  and  method  as  high 
as  that  reached  by  the  investigators  of  an  earlier  period.  It 
may  be  that  we  have  lived  up  to  our  present  possibilities, 
doubtless  we  have,  but  whether  we  have  or  not,  it  is  certain 
that  unless  the  agencies  constituted  for  research  purposes  can 
secure  and  maintain  larger  freedom  in  policy  and  more  fully 
break  loose  from  the  restrictions  of  expediency  imposed  by 
semi-political  relations  and  by  misguided  demands  for  popular 
efforts  on  the  part  of  supposed  investigators,  we  shall  mostly 
continue  to  halt  on  the  outskirts  of  great  problems  whose 
solution  would  render  to  agriculture  the  highest  possible  serv- 
ice. It  is  gratifying  to  be  able  to  believe,  however,  that  we 
are  on  the  ascending  plane  in  the  stability  and  effectiveness 
of  our  research  efforts. 

These  suggestions  concerning  the  limitation  of  the  activities 
of  the  teacher  and  investigator  are  not  intended  to  be  argu- 
ments against  the  eminently  useful  efforts  directed  toward 
enlightening  and  stimulating  the  public  mind.  These  efforts 
should  continue,  but  it  is  fair  to  inquire  whether  we  have  not 
reached  a  point  in  the  development  of  agricultural  education 
and  the  demands  made  upon  it,  where  the  widely  distributed 
popular   instruction   and   secondary   education   of   all   forms 


THE  AGRICULTURAL  COLLEGE  295 

should  be  maintained  through  agencies  organized  especially 
for  these  purposes,  to  which  the  college  of  agriculture  should 
be  coordinated  in  an  advisory  relation.  Extension  instruction 
and  secondary  education,  if  they  are  to  work  out  the  largest 
values,  must  be  widely  available  and  stimulate  local  initiative 
and  activity.  The  college  may  well  be  a  source  of  advice, 
and,  when  means  are  abundant  through  a  corps  of  experts 
who  shall  be  independent  of  other  duties,  it  may  aid  in  giving 
the  needed  accuracy  and  direction  to  the  knowledge  that  it  is 
sought  to  impart.  But  such  aid  should  serve  to  stimulate 
and  supplement  the  activities  of  other  agencies  and  of  the 
various  communities  that  are  to  be  benefited  and  should  be 
so  related  to  the  colleges  as  in  no  way  to  hamper  their  academic 
work. 

Has  not  the  time  come  when  extension  work  should  be 
carried  on  through  the  coordinated  effort  of  the  state  depart- 
ment of  education,  the  department  or  board  of  agriculture, 
the  colleges,  the  normal  and  secondary  schools,  the  churches, 
the  grange,  the  railroads,  the  chambers  of  commerce  and  other 
business  and  commercial  bodies,  all  of  which  should  be  asso- 
ciated in  a  board  of  direction  and  should  contribute  to  a 
permanent  and  salaried  faculty  of  instruction?  There  is 
every  reason  why  the  agricultural  college  should  have  an 
important  place  in  the  education  of  the  public,  but  is  there 
now  any  reason  why  it  should  attempt  to  compass  the  whole 
field  or  burden  itself  with  the  entire  responsibility,  financial 
or  otherwise,  for  such  efforts? 

There  are  those  who  will  argue,  I  suspect,  that  the  closer 
limitation  of  the  work  of  the  college  faculty  to  the  higher 
ranges  of  academic  training  would  cause  these  institutions 
to  lose  their  vital  connection  with  public  thought  and  needs. 
We  certainly  have  no  use  for  a  fossilized  center  of  learning  in 
these  days  when  the  college  must  be  regarded  as  a  public 
servant,  but  to  prevent  its  petrification  it  is  not  necessary 
that  the  farmers'  picnic,  the  grange  hall,  the  institute  plat- 


296  WHITMAN  H.  JORDAN 

form  or  the  railroad  train  shall  be  frequented  by  the  teacher 
and  investigator.  These  excursions  from  college  halls  may- 
be replaced  by  expeditions  for  the  careful  study  of  social  and 
economic  conditions  as  they  are  seen  on  the  farm  and  in  the 
various  business  operations  that  are  related  to  agriculture, 
with  no  loss,  but  rather  a  gain  in  the  value  of  the  service 
rendered. 

When  an  issue  is  raised  concerning  vocational  curriculums 
we  enter  upon  debatable  ground.  This  audience  needs  not 
to  be  told  that  many  a  faculty  session  has  been  devoted  to  a 
vigorous,  even  heated,  discussion  over  the  relative  propor- 
tions and  distribution  of  studies  in  agricultural  and  engineer- 
ing courses,  for  there  are  present  many  who  are  in  the  midst 
of  a  contest  that  is  still  being  waged.  Only  general  considera- 
tions concerning  this  much-debated  matter  are  in  order  at 
this  time. 

A  proper  regard  for  a  student's  success  in  after  life  requires 
that  at  least  three  considerations  shall  enter  into  the  use 
of  his  time  and  into  the  arrangement  and  subject-matter  of 
the  course  of  study  he  is  expected  to  pursue.  These  are  the 
development  of  personal  power,  the  cultivation  of  both  the 
sense  and  understanding  of  social  and  moral  obligations, 
and  preparation  for  vocational  activity. 

The  development  of  personal  power  is  placed  first  because 
it  is  the  all-comprehensive  factor  in  determining  individual- 
efficiency.  It  is  not  attained  through  the  mere  sorting  of 
information  or  through  familiarity  with  technical  details,  for 
knowledge  and  skill  are  but  instruments  for  use.  It  consists 
essentially  of  the  power  of  initiative,  the  ability  to  think 
clearly  and  to  reason  sanely  and  fundamentally,  and,  above 
all,  it  involves  that  mastery  of  self  and  of  the  raw  materials 
of  life  that  lies  at  the  foundation  of  all  individual  success. 

Personal  power  is  acquired  through  discipline,  and  so  the 
disciplinary  value  of  a  course  of  study  is  a  prime  considera- 
tion.    Have  we  not  to  some  extent  lost  sight  of  the  great  and 


THE  AGRICULTURAL   COLLEGE  297 

abiding  truth  that  the  intellectual  and  moral  culture  of  man 
as  a  man  is  the  only  road  to  either  a  social  or  a  vocational 
uplift?  In  our  anxiety  to  demonstrate  the  value  of  these 
institutions  to  the  material  interests  of  the  nation,  have  we 
not  over-commercialized  the  instruction,  even  the  atmosphere, 
of  our  vocational  schools  and  colleges?  The  leaders  in 
engineering  education  are  beginning  to  say  so,  and  is  it  not 
true  of  agriculture?  We  may  well  give  heed  to  the  words  of 
a  recent  writer  who  thus  comments  on  the  educational  influ- 
ence of  the  ancient  guilds: 

The  soul  of  this  ideal  education  of  the  masses  was  the  training  of 
character.  They  had  no  illusions  that  the  mere  imparting  of  informa- 
tion would  make  people  better,  nor  that  the  knowing  of  many  things 
would  make  them  more  desirable  citizens.  In  none  of  the  higher  walks 
of  Ufe  does  it  ever  cease  to  be  more  the  question  how  much  of  a  man 
one  is,  than  how  much  he  knows  of  his  special  business. 

The  cultivation  of  the  sense  and  understanding  of  social 
and  moral  obligations  is  placed  second  because  human  rela- 
tions and  the  quality  of  human  effort  are  determinative 
factors  in  the  larger  successes  and  satisfactions  of  life,  whether 
we  consider  the  individual  or  the  social  body.  It  is  sound 
doctrine  to  declare  that,  in  the  last  analysis,  the  defeats  of 
individuals  and  of  nations  are  moral  defeats.  Moreover, 
we  now  see  very  clearly  that  the  critical  problems  which 
face  agriculture  are  no  less  social  than  vocational.  Our 
greater  weakness  is  not  in  our  bread-winning  capacity,  but  in 
unsound  business  ethics  and  in  bad  social  adjustments. 

And  then,  there  is  the  larger  relation  of  the  educated  man 
to  national  welfare.  It  has  been  said  that  the  cure  for  the 
ills  of  democracy  is  more  democracy.  If  more  democracy  is 
coming,  and  it  seems  to  be,  we  shall  sorely  need  the  steadying 
influence  of  wise  social  leadership.  The  education  of  the 
masses  is  superficial.  That  keen  observer,  Mr.  Bryce,  has 
said  that  "it  is  sufficient  to  enable  them  to  think  they  know 
something  about  the  great  problems  of  politics  and  insufficient 


298  WHITMAN  H.  JORDAN 

to  show  them  how  little  they  know."  Bishop  Newman 
declares  that  "if  a  practical  end  must  be  assigned  to  a  uni- 
versity course  I  say  it  is  that  of  training  good  members  of 
society.  It  is  the  art  of  social  life  and  its  end  is  fitness  for 
the  world."  Another  writer  has  observed  that  the  land- 
grant  colleges  are  ranked  as  an  economic  rather  than  a  social 
force.  If  this  accusation  is  just,  these  institutions  should 
purge  themselves  of  an  unsound  policy.  We  do  violence  to 
the  highest  interests  of  the  individual  and  of  society  if  we 
fail  to  cultivate  in  those  over  whom  the  mantle  of  a  bacca- 
laureate degree  is  thrown  a  sense  and  comprehension  of  their 
obligations  to  society. 

It  is  a  distorted  training  that  emphasizes  bread-winning 
capacity  at  the  expense  of  fitness  for  social  service.  Our 
national  welfare  is  already  threatened  by  the  divorcement 
of  patriotic  citizenship  from  industrial  activity. 

Preparation  for  vocational  activity  is  placed  last,  but  not 
because  the  equipment  of  the  mind  with  the  facts  of  science 
and  their  applications  to  the  art  of  agriculture  is  in  any  sense 
unimportant.  The  colleges  of  agriculture  are  dealing  directly 
with  the  subject-matter  that  is  related  to  the  farmer's  voca- 
tion, and  they  will  violate  their  obligations  and  limit  their 
usefulness  if  they  do  not  continue  to  do  so. 

In  discussing  the  vocational  and  training  value  of  courses 
of  study  in  agriculture  I  shall  simply  be  ranging  myself  on 
one  side  of  this  much  debated  question  when  I  insist  that 
these  courses  should  present  good  pedagogical  form  and 
should  lend  themselves  largely  to  training  in  the  fundamental 
sciences  and  present  the  lowest  feasible  minimum  of  ultra- 
practical  subjects. 

Remarks  concerning  pedagogical  form  may  not  now  be 
pertinent  to  any  existing  situation.  It  has  been  said,  however, 
that,  in  the  past,  agricultural  subjects  have  been  taken  out 
of  the  normal  pedagogical  order  and  placed  among  the  studies 
of  the  freshman  year,  or  otherwise  distributed  illogically  in 


THE  AGRICULTURAL   COLLEGE  299 

the  curriculum,  simply  that  a  student's  attention  shall  be 
held  to  agriculture  and  more  graduates  in  agriculture  thereby 
secured.  Doubtless  such  transgressions  are  not  committed 
now,  but  if  they  are  they  look  very  much  like  an  attempt  to 
lasso  young  men  and  drag  them  at  the  heels  of  expediency. 
What  justification  is  there  for  invading  the  intellectual  rights 
of  a  student  or  imperiling  his  future  success  by  giving  him 
less  than  the  best  possible  training;  and  how  useless  such  an 
expedient!  We  shall  not  coerce  a  man's  choice  of  a  life  work, 
however  hard  we  may  try  to  do  so.  Young  men  will  continue 
to  enter  the  door  that  they  believe  opens  to  them  the  largest 
opportunity,  as  they  always  have  done  and  as  they  ought 
to  do. 

It  is  the  subject-matter  that  should  engage  the  attention 
of  the  agricultural  student  concerning  which  we  are  likely  to 
differ  most  widely  in  opinion.  Those  who  are  seeking  for 
members  of  a  faculty  or  station  staff  are  bound  to  concede 
that,  as  a  rule,  altogether  too  many  graduates  are  poorly 
trained  for  these  positions,  largely  .because  they  are  poorly 
fitted  in  the  sciences  fundamental  to  the  line  of  work  in  which 
they  offer  themselves. 

For  instance,  candidates  for  positions  in  horticulture  are 
generally  obliged  to  confess  a  woeful  lack  of  acquaintance 
with  physiological  botany.  Those  supposed  to  be  specially 
trained  in  animal  nutrition  rarely  have  the  necessary  knowl- 
edge of  organic  and  biological  chemistry,  and  graduates  in 
agronomy  are  likely  to  be  more  familiar  with  superficial  facts 
than  with  soil  chemistry  and  the  science  of  plant  nutrition. 
Judging  cattle,  corn  and  fruit;  grafting  trees,  visiting  orchards, 
calculating  rations  are  exercises  of  small  training  value,  even 
small  vocational  value,  compared  with  severe  attention  to 
the  processes  of  nature  that  underHe  agricultural  i)ractice  of 
all  kinds.  If  many  of  the  colleges  expect  to  give  their  gradu- 
ates a  good  start  on  the  road  to  success  as  teachers  and  station 
workers,   they   should   seriously  consider   a  curriculum   that 


300  WHITMAN  H.  JORDAN 

deals  more  largely  with  the  fundamental  sciences  and  less 
with  agricultural  technics  as  a  superstructure. 

And  should  not  the  same  policy  be  followed  with  those 
who  are  to  enter  practical  agriculture?  A  fact  of  fundamental 
importance  in  this  connection  is  that  the  farmer  is  equipped 
for  success  in  farm  practice  not  so  much  through  expert 
handicraft  as  through  a  knowledge  of  conditions  that  determine 
the  successful  growth  of  plants  and  animals;  in  other  words, 
an  acquaintance  with  nature's  processes.  The  mechanical 
details  of  agriculture  are  comparatively  simple,  but  the 
control  of  nature's  resources  is  complex  and  difficult.  With 
great  respect  for  the  opinions  of  those  who  hold  opposite 
views,  I  am  constrained  to  express  the  conviction  that  the 
man  is  best  prepared  for  the  life  of  a  farmer  who  knows  the 
most  about  the  fundamental  sciences  and  their  relation  to 
his  vocation,  and  for  this  reason  I  can  but  regard  the  time  as 
comparatively  inefficiently  spent  that  is  devoted  in  college  to 
observations  and  exercises  of  an  ultra  practical  character,  or 
to  gaining  information  that  is  easily  acquired  from  the  ordi- 
nary experiences  of  practical  life.  This  doctrine  may  be 
reactionary  but  it  is  in  accordance  with  movements  now  in 
progress  in  other  vocational  schools.  We  have  fallen  into  the 
error,  it  is  to  be  feared,  of  regarding  the  student  mind  as  a 
storage  tank  for  useful  facts  rather  than  as  an  instrument  to 
be  fashioned  into  soundness  and  efficiency.  We  must  never 
forget  that  the  farmer  is  comprehended  in  the  man.  And 
when  we  realize  that  many  of  the  graduates  of  these  institu- 
tions will  exert  a  dominating  influence  upon  the  mental  and 
moral  development  of  young  men  and  women,  we  see  a  most 
important  reason  why  their  education  should  not  be  confined 
to  the  narrow  line  of  technical  training.  And  above  all,  as 
has  been  urged,  these  graduates  are  to  be  members  of  society. 

After  all,  what  are  the  supreme  objects  of  education?  It 
has  been  reported,  though  I  do  not  credit  the  statement,  that 
a  member  of  an  agricultural  college  faculty  once  declared  that 


THE  AGRICULTURAL  COLLEGE  301 

the  business  of  his  institution  was  to  bring  about  the  produc- 
tion of  more  hogs  at  greater  profit.  If  this  remark  was  made, 
what  a  spectacle  it  pictures!  It  places  the  hog  at  the  pinnacle 
of  educational  aspiration  with  man  as  a  lesser  figure.  In 
sharp  contrast  to  this  gross  conception  of  educational  ideals 
stand  the  sentiments  of  great  minds  who  have  seen  broadly 
and  clearly  the  larger  issues  of  life. 

Hill  says  of  education  that  it  should  "quicken  a  man's 
mental  perceptions,  form  in  him  the  habit  of  prompt  and 
accurate  judgment;  lead  to  delicacy  and  depth  in  every 
right  feeling  and  make  him  inflexible  in  his  conscientious  and 
steadfast  devotion  to  all  his  duties."  Milton  wrote  that 
"■  the  main  skill  and  groundwork  of  education  will  be  to  temper 
the  pupils  with  such  lectures  and  explanations  as  will  draw 
them  into  willing  obedience,  influenced  with  the  study  of 
learning  and  the  admiration  of  virtue,  stirred  up  with  high 
hopes  of  living  to  be  brave  men  and  worthy  patriots." 

Listen  to  Mill: 

The  moral  or  religious  influence  which  a  university  can  exercise  con- 
sists less  in  any  express  teaching  than  in  the  pervading  tone  of  the 
place.  Whatever  it  teaches  it  should  teach  as  penetrated  by  a  sense  of 
duty;  it  should  present  all  knowledge  as  chiefly  a  means  of  worthiness  in 
life,  given  for  the  double  purpose  of  making  each  of  us  practically  useful 
to  our  fellow  creatures  and  of  elevating  the  character  of  the  species 
itself. 


A  LIBERAL   EDUCATION;    AND   WHERE 
TO   FIND   ITi 

Thomas  Henry  Huxley 

The  business  which  the  South  London  Working  Men's 
College  has  undertaken  is  a  great  work;  indeed,  I  might  say, 
that  Education,  with  which  that  college  proposes  to  grapple, 
is  the  greatest  work  of  all  those  which  lie  ready  to  a  man's 
hand  just  at  present. 

And,  at  length,  this  fact  is  becoming  generally  recognized. 
You  cannot  go  anywhere  without  hearing  a  buzz  of  more  or 
less  confused  and  contradictory  talk  on  this  subject  —  nor 
can  you  fail  to  notice  that,  in  one  point  at  any  rate,  there  is 
a  very  decided  advance  upon  like  discussions  in  former  days. 
Nobody  outside  the  agricultural  interest  now  dares  to  say 
that  education  is  a  bad  thing.  If  any  representative  of  the 
once  large  and  powerful  party,  which,  in  former  days,  pro- 
claimed this  opinion,  still  exists  in  a  semi-fossil  state,  he  keeps 
his  thoughts  to  himself.  In  fact,  there  is  a  chorus  of  voices, 
almost  distressing  in  their  harmony,  raised  in  favour  of  the 
doctrine  that  education  is  the  great  panacea  for  human  troubles, 
and  that,  if  the  country  is  not  shortly  to  go  to  the  dogs,  every- 
body must  be  educated. 

The  politicians  tell  us,  "you  must  educate  the  masses 
because  they  are  going  to  be  masters."  The  clergy  join  in 
the  cry  for  education,  for  they  affirm  that  the  people  are  drift- 
ing away  from  church  and  chapel  into  the  broadest  infidelity. 
The  manufacturers  and  the  capitalists  swell  the  chorus  lustily. 

^  This  essay,  which  was  written  in  1868,  was  influential  in  stimulating 
the  movement  which  resulted  in  shifting  the  emphasis  from  classical  to 
scientific  studies. 


A  LIBERAL  EDUCATION  303 

They  declare  that  ignorance  makes  bad  workmen;  that  Eng- 
land will  soon  be  unable  to  turn  out  cotton  goods,  or  steam 
engines,  cheaper  than  other  people;  and  then,  Ichabod! 
Ichabod!  the  glory  will  be  departed  from  us.  And  a  few  voices 
are  lifted  up  in  favour  of  the  doctrine  that  the  masses  should 
be  educated  because  they  are  men  and  women  with  unlimited 
capacities  of  being,  doing,  and  suffering,  and  that  it  is 
as  true  now,  as  ever  it  was,  that  the  people  perish  for  lack 
of  knowledge. 

These  members  of  the  minority,  with  whom  I  confess  I 
have  a  good  deal  of  sympathy,  are  doubtful  whether  any  of  the 
other  reasons  urged  in  favour  of  the  education  of  the  people 
are  of  much  value  —  whether,  indeed,  some  of  them  are  based 
upon  either  wise  or  noble  grounds  of  action.  They  question 
if  it  be  wise  to  tell  people  that  you  will  do  for  them,  out  of 
fear  of  their  power,  what  you  have  left  undone,  so  long  as 
your  only  motive  was  compassion  for  their  weakness  and  their 
sorrows.  And  if  ignorance  of  everything  which  it  is  needful 
a  ruler  should  know  is  Hkely  to  do  so  much  harm  in  the  gov- 
erning classes  of  the  future,  why  is  it,  they  ask  reasonably 
enough,  that  such  ignorance  in  the  governing  classes  of  the 
past  has  not  been  viewed  with  equal  horror? 

Compare  the  average  artisan  and  the  average  country 
squire,  and  it  may  be  doubted  if  you  will  find  a  pin  to  choose 
between  the  two  in  point  of  ignorance,  class  feeling,  or  preju- 
dice. It  is  true  that  the  ignorance  is  of  a  different  sort  — 
that  the  class  feeling  is  in  favour  of  a  different  class  —  and 
that  the  prejudice  has  a  distinct  savour  of  wrong-headedness 
in  each  case  —  but  it  is  questionable  if  the  one  is  either  a  bit 
better,  or  a  bit  worse,  than  the  other.  The  old  protectionist 
theory  is  the  doctrine  of  trades  unions  as  applied  by  the 
squires,  and  the  modern  trades  unionism  is  the  doctrine  of 
the  squires  applied  by  the  artisans.  Why  should  we  be  worse 
off  under  one  regime  than  under  the  other? 

Again,   this   sceptical   minority  asks   the   clergy   to   think 


304  THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY 

whether  it  is  really  want  of  education  which  keeps  the  masses 
away  from  their  ministrations  —  whether  the  most  completely 
educated  men  are  not  as  open  to  reproach  on  this  score  as 
the  workmen;  and  whether,  perchance,  this  may  not  indi- 
cate that  it  is  not  education  which  lies  at  the  bottom  of  the 
matter? 

Once  more,  these  people,  whom  there  is  no  pleasing,  venture 
to  doubt  whether  the  glory,  which  rests  upon  being  able  to 
undersell  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  is  a  very  safe  kind  of  glory  — 
whether  we  may  not  purchase  it  too  dear;  especially  if  we 
allow  education  which  ought  to  be  directed  to  the  making  of 
men,  to  be  diverted  into  a  process  of  manufacturing  human 
tools,  wonderfully  adroit  in  the  exercise  of  some  technical 
industry,  but  good  for  nothing  else. 

And,  finally,  these  people  inquire  whether  it  is  the  masses 
alone  who  need  a  reformed  and  improved  education.  They 
ask  whether  the  richest  of  our  public  schools  might  not  well 
be  made  to  supply  knowledge,  as  well  as  gentlemanly  habits, 
a  strong  class  feeling,  and  eminent  proficiency  in  cricket. 
They  seem  to  think  that  the  noble  foundations  of  our  old 
universities  are  hardly  fulfilling  their  functions  in  their  present 
posture  of  half-clerical  seminaries,  half  racecourses,  where 
men  are  trained  to  win  a  senior  wranglership,  or  a  double 
first,  as  horses  are  trained  to  win  a  cup,  with  as  little  reference 
to  the  needs  of  after-life  in  the  case  of  the  man  as  in  that  of 
the  racer.  And  while  as  zealous  for  education  as  the  rest, 
they  affirm  that  if  the  education  of  the  richer  classes  were 
such  as  to  fit  them  to  be  the  leaders  and  the  governors  of  the 
poorer;  and  if  the  education  of  the  poorer  classes  were  such 
as  to  enable  them  to  appreciate  really  wise  guidance  and  good 
governance,  the  politicians  need  not  fear  mob-law,  nor  the 
clergy  lament  their  want  of  flocks,  nor  the  capitalist  prog- 
nosticate the  annihilation  of  the  prosperity  of  the  country. 

Such  is  the  diversity  of  opinion  upon  the  why  and  the 
wherefore  of  education.     And  my  hearers  will  be  prepared  to 


A  LIBERAL  EDUCATION  305 

expect  that  the  practical  recommendations  which  are  put 
forward  are  not  less  discordant.  There  is  a  loud  cry  for  com- 
pulsory education.  We  English,  in  spite  of  constant  experi- 
ence to  the  contrary,  preserve  a  touching  faith  in  the  efficacy 
of  acts  of  parliament;  and  I  believe  we  should  have  compulsory 
education  in  the  course  of  next  session  if  there  were  the  least 
probability  that  half  a  dozen  leading  statesmen  of  different 
parties  would  agree  what  that  education  should  be. 

Some  hold  that  education  without  theology  is  worse  than 
none.  Others  maintain,  quite  as  strongly,  that  education 
with  theology  is  in  the  same  predicament.  But  this  is  certain, 
that  those  who  hold  the  first  opinion  can  by  no  means  agree 
what  theology  should  be  taught;  and  that  those  who  main- 
tain the  second  are  in  a  small  minority. 

At  any  rate  "make  people  learn  to  read,  write,  and  cipher," 
say  a  great  many;  and  the  advice  is  undoubtedly  sensible 
as  far  as  it  goes.  But,  as  has  happened  to  me  in  former 
days,  those  who,  in  despair  of  getting  anything  better,  advocate 
this  measure,  are  met  with  the  objection  that  it  is  very  like 
making  a  child  practise  the  use  of  a  knife,  fork,  and  spoon, 
without  giving  it  a  particle  of  meat.  I  really  don't  know 
what  reply  is  to  be  made  to  such  an  objection. 

But  it  would  be  unprofitable  to  spend  more  time  in  dis- 
entangling, or  rather  in  showing  up  the  knots  in,  the  ravelled 
skeins  of  our  neighbours.  Much  more  to  the  purpose  is  it  to 
ask  if  we  possess  any  clue  of  our  own  which  may  guide  us 
among  these  entanglements.  And  by  way  of  a  beginning, 
let  us  ask  ourselves  —  What  is  education?  Above  all  things, 
what  is  our  ideal  of  a  thoroughly  liberal  education?  —  of  that 
education  which,  if  we  could  begin  life  again,  we  would  give 
ourselves  —  of  that  education  which,  if  we  could  mould  the 
fates  to  our  own  will,  we  would  give  our  children?  Well, 
I  know  not  what  may  be  your  conceptions  upon  this  matter, 
but  I  will  tell  you  mine,  and  I  hope  I  shall  find  that  our  views 
are  not  very  discrepant. 


3o6  THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY 

Suppose  it  were  perfectly  certain  that  the  life  and  fortune 
of  every  one  of  us  would,  one  day  or  other,  depend  upon  his 
winning  or  losing  a  game  at  chess.  Don't  you  think  that  we 
should  all  consider  it  to  be  a  primary  duty  to  learn  at  least 
the  names  and  the  moves  of  the  pieces;  to  have  a  notion  of 
a  gambit,  and  a  keen  eye  for  all  the  means  of  giving  and  getting 
out  of  check?  Do  you  not  think  that  we  should  look  with 
a  disapprobation  amounting  to  scorn,  upon  the  father  who 
allowed  his  son,  or  the  state  which  allowed  its  members,  to 
grow  up  without  knowing  a  pawn  from  a  knight? 

Yet,  it  is  a  very  plain  and  elementary  truth  that  the  life, 
the  fortune,  and  the  happiness  of  every  one  of  us,  and,  more 
or  less,  of  those  who  are  connected  with  us,  do  depend  upon  our 
knowing  something  of  the  rules  of  a  game  infinitely  more 
difiicult  and  complicated  than  chess.  It  is  a  game  which  has 
been  played  for  untold  ages,  every  man  and  woman  of  us 
being  one  of  the  two  players  in  a  game  of  his  or  her  own.  The 
chess-board  is  the  world,  the  pieces  are  the  phenomena  of  the 
universe,  the  rules  of  the  game  are  what  we  call  the  laws  of 
nature.  The  player  on  the  other  side  is  hidden  from  us.  We 
know  that  his  play  is  always  fair,  just,  and  patient.  But 
also  we  know,  to  our  cost,  that  he  never  overlooks  a  mistake, 
or  makes  the  smallest  allowance  for  ignorance.  To  the  man 
who  plays  well,  the  highest  stakes  are  paid,  with  that  sort  of 
overflowing  generosity  with  which  the  strong  shows  delight 
in  strength.  And  one  who  plays  ill  is  checkmated  —  without 
haste,  but  without  remorse. 

My  metaphor  will  remind  some  of  you  of  the  famous  picture 
in  which  Retzsch  has  depicted  Satan  playing  at  chess  with 
man  for  his  soul.  Substitute  for  the  mocking  fiend  in  that 
picture  a  calm,  strong  angel  who  is  playing  for  love,  as  we  say, 
and  would  rather  lose  than  win  —  and  I  should  accept  it  as 
an  image  of  human  life. 

Well,  what  I  mean  by  Education  is  learning  the  rules  of 
this  mighty  game.     In  other  words,  education  is  the  instruc- 


A  LIBERAL  EDUCATION  307 

tion  of  the  intellect  in  the  laws  of  nature,  under  which  name  I 
include  not  merely  things  and  their  forces,  but  men  and  their 
ways;  and  the  fashioning  of  the  affections  and  of  the  will 
into  an  earnest  and  loving  desire  to  move  in  harmony  with 
those  laws.  For  me,  education  means  neither  more  nor  less 
than  this.  Anything  which  professes  to  call  itself  education 
must  be  tried  by  this  standard,  and  if  it  fails  to  stand  the  test, 
I  will  not  call  it  education,  whatever  may  be  the  force  of 
authority  or  of  numbers  upon  the  other  side. 

It  is  important  to  remember  that,  in  strictness,  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  an  uneducated  man.  Take  an  extreme  case. 
Suppose  that  an  adult  man,  in  the  full  vigour  of  his  faculties, 
could  be  suddenly  placed  in  the  world,  as  Adam  is  said  to  have 
been,  and  then  left  to  do  as  he  best  might.  How  long  would 
he  be  left  uneducated?  Not  five  minutes.  Nature  would 
begin  to  teach  him,  through  the  eye,  the  ear,  the  touch,  the 
properties  of  objects.  Pain  and  pleasure  would  be  at  his  elbow 
telling  him  to  do  this  and  avoid  that;  and  by  slow  degrees  the 
man  would  receive  an  education  which,  if  narrow,  would  be 
thorough,  real,  and  adequate  to  his  circumstances,  though 
there  would  be  no  extras  and  very  few  accomplishments. 

And  if  to  this  soUtary  man  entered  a  second  Adam,  or, 
better  still,  an  Eve,  a  new  and  greater  world,  that  of  social 
and  moral  phenomena,  would  be  revealed.  Joys  and  woes, 
compared  with  which  all  others  might  seem  but  faint  shadows, 
would  spring  from  the  new  relations.  Happiness  and  sorrow 
would  take  the  place  of  the  coarser  monitors,  pleasure  and 
pain;  but  conduct  would  still  be  shaped  by  the  observation 
of  the  natural  consequences  of  actions;  or,  in  other  words, 
by  the  laws  of  the  nature  of  man. 

To  every  one  of  us  the  world  was  once  as  fresh  and  new  as 
to  Adam.  And  then,  long  before  we  were  susceptible  of  any 
other  mode  of  instruction,  nature  took  us  in  hand,  and  every 
minute  of  waking  life  brought,  its  educational  influence, 
shaping    our    actions    into    rough    accordance    with    nature's 


3o8  THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY 

laws,  so  that  we  might  not  be  ended  untimely  by  too  gross 
disobedience.  Nor  should  I  speak  of  this  process  of  education 
as  past,  for  any  one,  be  he  as  old  as  he  may.  For  every  man 
the  world  is  as  fresh  as  it  was  at  the  first  day,  and  as  full  of 
untold  novelties  for  him  who  has  the  eyes  to  see  them.  And 
nature  is  still  continuing  her  patient  education  of  us  in  that 
great  university,  the  universe,  of  which  we  are  all  members 
—  nature  having  no  Test-Acts. 

Those  who  take  honours  in  nature's  university,  who  learn 
the  laws  which  govern  men  and  things  and  obey  them,  are 
the  really  great  and  successful  men  in  this  world.  The  great 
mass  of  mankind  are  the  ''Poll,"  who  pick  up  just  enough  to 
get  through  without  much  discredit.  Those  who  won't 
learn  at  all  are  plucked;  and  then  you  can't  come  up  again. 
Nature's  pluck  means  extermination. 

Thus  the  question  of  compulsory  education  is  settled  so 
far  as  nature  is  concerned.  Her  bill  on  that  question  was 
framed  and  passed  long  ago.  But,  like  all  compulsory  legis- 
lation, that  of  nature  is  harsh  and  wasteful  in  its  operation. 
Ignorance  is  visited  as  sharply  as  wilful  disobedience  —  in- 
capacity meets  with  the  same  punishment  as  crime.  Nature's 
discipline  is  not  even  a  word  and  a  blow,  and  the  blow  first; 
but  the  blow  without  the  word.  It  is  left  to  you  to  find  out 
why  your  ears  are  boxed. 

The  object  of  what  we  commonly  call  education  —  that 
education  in  which  man  intervenes  and  which  I  shall  dis- 
tinguish as  artificial  education  —  is  to  make  good  these  defects 
in  nature's  methods;  to  prepare  the  child  to  receive  nature's 
education,  neither  incapably  nor  ignorantly,  nor  with  wilful 
disobedience;  and  to  understand  the  preliminary  symptoms 
of  her  pleasure,  without  waiting  for  the  box  on  the  ear.  In 
short,  all  artificial  education  ought  to  be  an  anticipation  of 
natural  education.  And  a  liberal  education  is  an  artificial 
education  —  which  has  not  only  prepared  a  man  to  escape  the 
great  evils  of  disobedience  to  natural  laws,  but  has  trained 


A  LIBERAL  EDUCATION  309 

him  to  appreciate  and  to  seize  upon  the  rewards  which  nature 
scatters  with  as  free  a  hand  as  her  penalties. 

That  man,  I  think,  has  had  a  Hberal  education  who  has  been 
so  trained  in  youth  that  his  body  is  the  ready  servant  of  his 
will,  and  does  with  ease  and  pleasure  all  the  work  that,  as  a 
mechanism,  it  is  capable  of;  whose  intellect  is  a  clear,  cold, 
logic  engine,  with  all  its  parts  of  equal  strength,  and  in  smooth 
working  order;  ready,  like  a  steam  engine,  to  be  turned  to 
any  kind  of  work,  and  spin  the  gossamers  as  well  as  forge  the 
anchors  of  the  mind;  whose  mind  is  stored  with  a  knowledge 
of  the  great  and  fundamental  truths  of  nature  and  of  the 
laws  of  her  operations;  one  who,  no  stunted  ascetic,  is  full 
of  life  and  fire,  but  whose  passions  are  trained  to  come  to 
heel  by  a  vigorous  will,  the  servant  of  a  tender  conscience; 
who  has  learned  to  love  all  beauty,  whether  of  nature  or  of 
art,  to  hate  all  vileness,  and  to  respect  others  as  himself. 

Such  an  one  and  no  other,  I  conceive,  has  had  a  liberal  edu- 
cation; for  he  is,  as  completely  as  a  man  can  be,  in  harmony 
with  nature.  He  will  make  the  best  of  her,  and  she  of  him. 
They  will  get  on  together  rarely;  she  as  his  ever-beneficent 
mother;  he  as  her  mouthpiece,  her  conscious  self,  her  minister 
and  interpreter. 

Where  is  such  an  education  as  this  to  be  had?  Where  is 
there  any  approximation  to  it?  Has  any  one  tried  to  found 
such  an  education?  Looking  over  the  length  and  breadth 
of  these  islands,  I  am  afraid  that  all  these  questions  must 
receive  a  negative  answer.  Consider  our  primary  schools 
and  what  is  taught  in  them.    A  child  learns:  — 

1.  To  read,  write,  and  cipher,  more  or  less  well;  but  in 
a  very  large  proportion  of  cases  not  so  well  as  to  take  pleasure 
in  reading,  or  to  be  able  to  write  the  commonest  letter  properly. 

2.  A  quantity  of  dogmatic  theology,  of  which  the  child, 
nine  times  out  of  ten,  understands  next  to  nothing. 

3.  Mixed  up  with  this,  so  as  to  seem  to  stand  or  fall  with 
it,  a  few  of  the  broadest  and  simplest  principles  of  morality. 


3IO  THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY 

This  is,  to  my  mind,  much  as  if  a  man  of  science  should  make 
the  story  of  the  fall  of  the  apple  in  Newton's  garden  an  inte- 
gral part  of  the  doctrine  of  gravitation,  and  teach  it  as  of 
equal  authority  with  the  law  of  the  inverse  squares. 

4.  A  good  deal  of  Jewish  history  and  Syrian  geography, 
and  perhaps  a  little  something  about  English  history  and  the 
geography  of  the  child's  own  country.  But  I  doubt  if  there 
is  a  primary  school  in  England  in  which  hangs  a  map  of  the 
hundred  in  which  the  village  lies,  so  that  the  children  may  be 
practically  taught  by  it  what  a  map  means. 

5.  A  certain  amount  of  regularity,  attentive  obedience, 
respect  for  others:  obtained  by  fear,  if  the  master  be  in- 
competent or  foolish;  by  love  and  reverence,  if  he  be  wise. 

So  far  as  this  school  course  embraces  a  training  in  the  theory 
and  practice  of  obedience  to  the  moral  laws  of  nature,  I  gladly 
admit,  not  only  that  it  contains  a  valuable  educational  ele- 
ment, but  that,  so  far,  it  deals  with  the  most  valuable  and 
important  part  of  all  education.  Yet,  contrast  what  is  done 
in  this  direction  with  what  might  be  done;  with  the  time  given 
to  matters  of  comparatively  no  importance;  with  the  absence 
of  any  attention  to  things  of  the  highest  moment;  and  one 
is  tempted  to  think  of  Falstaff's  bill  and  "  the  halfpenny  worth 
of  bread  to  all  that  quantity  of  sack." 

Let  us  consider  what  a  child  thus  "educated"  knows,  and 
what  it  does  not  know.  Begin  with  the  most  important  topic 
of  all  —  morality,  as  the  guide  of  conduct.  The  child  knows 
well  enough  that  some  acts  meet  with  approbation  and  some 
with  disapprobation.  But  it  has  never  heard  that  there  lies 
in  the  nature  of  things  a  reason  for  every  moral  law,  as  cogent 
and  as  well  defined  as  that  which  underlies  every  physical 
law;  that  stealing  and  lying  are  just  as  certain  to  be  followed 
by  evil  consequences  as  putting  your  hand  in  the  fire,  or  jump- 
ing out  of  a  garret  window.  Again,  though  the  scholar  may 
have  been  made  acquainted,  in  dogmatic  fashion,  with  the 
broad  laws  of  morality,  he  has  had  no  training  in  the  applica- 


A  LIBERAL  EDUCATION  311 

tion  of  those  laws  to  the  difficult  problems  which  result  from 
the  complex  conditions  of  modern  civilization.  Would  it 
not  be  very  hard  to  expect  any  one  to  solve  a  problem  in  conic 
sections  who  had  merely  been  taught  the  axioms  and  defini- 
tions of  mathematical  science? 

A  workman  has  to  bear  hard  labour,  and  perhaps  privation, 
while  he  sees  others  rolling  in  wealth,  and  feeding  their  dogs 
with  what  would  keep  his  children  from  starvation.  Would 
it  not  be  well  to  have  helped  that  man  to  calm  the  natural 
promptings  of  discontent  by  showing  him,  in  his  youth,  the 
necessary  connection  of  the  moral  law  which  prohibits  stealing 
with  the  stability  of  society  —  by  proving  to  him,  once  for 
all,  that  it  is  better  for  his  own  people,  better  for  himself, 
better  for  future  generations,  that  he  should  starve  than 
steal?  If  you  have  no  foundation  of  knowledge  or  habit 
of  thought  to  work  upon,  what  chance  have  you  of  persuading 
a  hungry  man  that  a  capitalist  is  not  a  thief  "with  a  circum- 
bendibus?" And  if  he  honestly  believes  that,  of  what  avail 
is  it  to  quote  the  commandment  against  stealing  when  he 
proposes  to  make  the  capitalist  disgorge? 

Again,  the  child  learns  absolutely  nothing  of  the  history 
or  the  political  organization  of  his  own  country.  His  general 
impression  is,  that  everything  of  much  importance  happened 
a  very  long  while  ago;  and  that  the  Queen  and  the  gentle- 
folks govern  the  country  much  after  the  fashion  of  King 
David  and  the  elders  and  nobles  of  Israel  —  his  sole  models. 
Will  you  give  a  man  with  this  much  information  a  vote?  In 
easy  times  he  sells  it  for  a  pot  of  beer.  Why  should  he  not? 
It  is  of  about  as  much  use  to  him  as  a  chignon,  and  he  knows 
as  much  what  to  do  with  it,  for  any  other  purpose.  In  bad 
times,  on  the  contrary,  he  applies  his  simple  theory  of  govern- 
ment, and  believes  that  his  rulers  are  the  cause  of  his  sufferings 
—  a  belief  which  sometimes  bears  remarkable  practical  fruits. 

Least  of  all,  does  the  child  gather  from  this  primary  "edu- 
cation" of  ours  a  conception  of  the  laws  of  the  physical  world, 


312  THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY 

or  of  the  relations  of  cause  and  effect  therein.  And  this  is 
the  more  to  be  lamented,  as  the  poor  are  especially  exposed 
to  physical  evils,  and  are  more  interested  in  removing  them 
than  any  other  class  of  the  community.  If  any  one  is  con- 
cerned in  knowing  the  ordinary  laws  of  mechanics  one  would 
think  it  is  the  hand-labourer,  whose  daily  toil  lies  among 
levers  and  pulleys;  or  among  the  other  implements  of  artisan 
work.  And  if  any  one  is  interested  in  the  laws  of  health,  it 
is  the  poor  man,  whose  strength  is  wasted  by  ill-prepared  food, 
whose  health  is  sapped  by  bad  ventilation  and  bad  drainage, 
and  half  of  whose  children  are  massacred  by  disorders  which 
might  be  prevented.  Not  only  does  our  present  primary 
education  carefully  abstain  from  hinting  to  the  poor  man 
that  some  of  his  greatest  evils  are  traceable  to  mere  physical 
agencies,  which  could  be  removed  by  energy,  patience,  and 
frugality;  but  it  does  worse  —  it  renders  him,  so  far  as  it 
can,  deaf  to  those  who  could  help  him,  and  tries  to  sub- 
stitute an  Oriental  submission  to  what  is  falsely  declared  to  be 
the  will  of  God,  for  his  natural  tendency  to  strive  after  a  better 
condition.    ■ 

What  wonder  then  if  very  recently  an  appeal  has  been  made 
to  statistics  for  the  profoundly  foolish  purpose  of  showing  that 
education  is  of  no  good  —  that  it  diminishes  neither  misery 
nor  crime  among  the  masses  of  mankind?  I  reply,  why  should 
the  thing  which  has  been  called  education  do  either  the  one 
or  the  other?  If  I  am  a  knave  or  a  fool,  teaching  me  to  read 
and  write  won't  make  me  less  of  either  one  or  the  other  — 
unless  somebody  shows  me  how  to  put  my  reading  and  writing 
to  wise  and  good  purposes. 

Suppose  any  one  were  to  argue  that  medicine  is  of  no  use, 
because  it  could  be  proved  statistically  that  the  percentage 
of  deaths  was  just  the  same  among  people  who  have  been 
taught  how  to  open  a  medicine  chest  and  among  those  who 
did  not  so  much  as  know  the  key  by  sight.  The  argument 
is  absurd;   but  it  is  not  more  preposterous  than  that  against 


A  LIBERAL  EDUCATION  3'^ 3 

which  I  am  contending.  The  only  medicine  for  suffering, 
crime,  and  all  the  other  woes  of  mankind,  is  wisdom.  Teach 
a  man  to  read  and  write,  and  you  have  put  into  his  hands  the 
great  keys  of  the  wisdom  box.  But  it  is  quite  another  matter 
whether  he  ever  opens  the  box  or  not.  And  he  is  as  likely 
to  poison  as  to  cure  himself,  if,  without  guidance,  he  swallows 
the  first  drug  that  comes  to  hand.  In  these  times  a  man  may 
as  well  be  purblind,  as  unable  to  read  —  lame,  as  unable  to 
write.  But  I  protest  that  if  I  thought  the  alternative  were  a 
necessary  one,  I  would  rather  that  the  children  of  the  poor 
should  grow  up  ignorant  of  both  these  mighty  arts,  than  that 
they  should  remain  ignorant  of  that  knowledge  to  which  these 
arts  are  means. 

It  may  be  said  that  all  these  animadversions  may  apply 
to  primary  schools,  but  that  the  higher  schools,  at  any  rate, 
must  be  allowed  to  give  a  liberal  education.  In  fact,  they 
professedly  sacrifice  everything  else  to  this  object. 

Let  us  inquire  into  this  matter.  What  do  the  higher  schools, 
those  to  which  the  great  middle  class  of  the  country  sends 
its  children,  teach,  over  and  above  the  instruction  given  in 
the  primary  schools?  There  is  a  little  more  reading  and 
writing  of  English.  But,  for  all  that,  every  one  knows  that 
it  is  a  rare  thing  to  find  a  boy  of  the  middle  or  upper  classes 
who  can  read  aloud  decently,  or  who  can  put  his  thoughts  on 
paper  in  clear  and  grammatical  (to  say  nothing  of  good  or 
elegant)  language.  The  "ciphering"  of  the  lower  schools 
expands  into  elementary  mathematics  in  the  higher;  into  arith- 
metic, with  a  little  algebra,  a  little  Euclid.  But  I  doubt  if 
one  boy  in  five  hundred  has  ever  heard  the  explanation  of  a 
rule  of  arithmetic,  or  knows  his  EucHd  otherwise  than  by 
rote. 

Of  theology,  the  middle-class  schoolboy  gets  rather  less 
than  poorer  children,  less  absolutely  and  less  relatively, 
because  there  are  so  many  other  claims  upon  his  attention. 
I  venture  to  say  that,  in  the  great  majority  of  cases,  his  ideas 


314  THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY 

on  this  subject  when  he  leaves  school  are  of  the  most  shadowy 
and  vague  description,  and  associated  with  painful  impres- 
sions of  the  weary  hours  spent  in  learning  collects  and  cate- 
chism by  heart. 

Modern  geography,  modern  history,  modern  literature; 
the  English  language  as  a  language;  the  whole  circle  of  the 
sciences,  physical,  moral,  and  social,  are  even  more  completely 
ignored  in  the  higher  than  in  the  lower  schools.  Up  till 
within  a  few  years  back,  a  boy  might  have  passed  through  any 
one  of  the  great  public  schools  with  the  greatest  distinction 
and  credit,  and  might  never  so  much  as  have  heard  of  one  of 
the  subjects  I  have  just  mentioned.  He  might  never  have 
heard  that  the  earth  goes  round  the  sun;  that  England  under- 
went a  great  revolution  in  1688,  and  France  another  in  1789; 
that  there  once  lived  certain  notable  men  called  Chaucer, 
Shakespeare,  Milton,  Voltaire,  Goethe,  Schiller.  The  first 
might  be  a  German  and  the  last  an  Englishman  for  anything 
he  could  tell  you  to  the  contrary.  And  as  for  Science,  the  only 
idea  the  word  would  suggest  to  his  mind  would  be  dexterity 
in  boxing. 

I  have  said  that  this  was  the  state  of  things  a  few  years 
back,  for  the  sake  of  the  few  righteous  who  are  to  be  found 
among  the  educational  cities  of  the  plain.  But  I  would  not 
have  you  too  sanguine  about  the  result,  if  you  sound  the  minds 
of  the  existing  generation  of  public  school-boys  on  such  topics 
as  those  I  have  mentioned. 

Now  let  us  pause  to  consider  this  wonderful  state  of  affairs; 
for  the  time  will  come  when  Englishmen  will  quote  it  as  the 
stock  example  of  the  stolid  stupidity  of  their  ancestors  in  the 
nineteenth  century.  The  most  thoroughly  commercial  people, 
the  greatest  voluntary  wanderers  and  colonists  the  world  has 
ever  seen,  are  precisely  the  middle  classes  of  this  country. 
If  there  be  a  people  which  has  been  busy  making  history  on 
the  great  scale  for  the  last  three  hundred  years  —  and  the  most 
profoundly  interesting  history  —  history  which,  if  it  happened 


A  LIBERAL  EDUCATION  315 

to  be  that  of  Greece  or  Rome,  we  should  study  with  avidity 
—  it  is  the  Enghsh.  If  there  be  a  people  which,  during  the 
same  period,  has  developed  a  remarkable  literature,  it  is  our 
own.  If  there  be  a  nation  whose  prosperity  depends  abso- 
lutely and  wholly  upon  their  mastery  over  the  forces  of  nature, 
upon  their  intelligent  apprehension  of,  and  obedience  to  the 
laws  of  the  creation  and  distribution  of  wealth,  and  of  the 
stable  equilibrium  of  the  forces  of  society,  it  is  precisely  this 
nation.  And  yet  this  is  what  these  wonderful  people  tell 
their  sons:  —  "x^t  the  cost  of  from  one  to  two  thousand  pounds 
of  our  hard-earned  money  we  devote  twelve  of  the  most 
precious  years  of  your  lives  to  school.  There  you  shall  toil, 
or  be  supposed  to  toil;  but  there  you  shall  not  learn  one  single 
thing  of  all  those  you  will  most  want  to  know  directly  you 
leave  school  and  enter  upon  the  practical  business  of  life. 
You  will  in  all  probabiHty  go  into  business,  but  you  shall  not 
know  where  or  how  any  article  of  commerce  is  produced, 
or  the  difference  between  an  export  or  an  import,  or  the  mean- 
ing of  the  word  'capital.'  You  will  very  likely  settle  in  a 
colony,  but  you  shall  not  know  whether  Tasmania  is  part  of 
New  South  Wales,  or  vice  versa. 

"Very  probably  you  may  become  a  manufacturer,  but  you 
shall  not  be  provided  with  the  means  of  understanding  the 
working  of  one  of  your  own  steam-engines,  or  the  nature  of 
the  raw  products  you  employ;  and  when  you  are  asked  to  buy 
a  patent  you  shall  not  have  the  slightest  means  of  judging 
whether  the  inventor  is  an  impostor  who  is  contravening  the 
elementary  principles  of  science,  or  a  man  who  will  make 
you  as  rich  as  Croesus. 

"  You  will  very  likely  get  into  the  House  of  Commons.  You 
will  have  to  take  your  share  in  making  laws  which  may  prove 
a  blessing  or  a  curse  to  millions  of  men.  But  you  shall  not 
hear  one  word  respecting  the  political  organization  of  your 
country;  the  meaning  of  the  controversy  between  freetraders 
and  protectionists  shall  never  have  been  mentioned  to  you; 


3i6  THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY 

you  shall  not  so  much  as  know  that  there  are  such  things  as 
economical  laws. 

"The  mental  power  which  will  be  of  most  importance  in  your 
daily  life  will  be  the  power  of  seeing  things  as  they  are  without 
regard  to  authority;  and  of  drawing  accurate  general  conclu- 
sions from  particular  facts.  But  at  school  and  at  college  you 
shall  know  of  no  source  of  truth  but  authority;  nor  exercise 
your  reasoning  faculty  upon  anything  but  deduction  from 
that  which  is  laid  down  by  authority. 

"You  will  have  to  weary  your  soul  with  work,  and  many  a 
time  eat  your  bread  in  sorrow  and  in  bitterness,  and  you 
shall  not  have  learned  to  take  refuge  in  the  great  source  of 
pleasure  without  alloy,  the  serene  resting-place  for  worn 
human  nature  —  the  world  of  art." 

Said  I  not  rightly  that  we  are  a  wonderful  people?  I  am 
quite  prepared  to  allow,  that  education  entirely  devoted  to 
these  omitted  subjects  might  not  be  a  completely  liberal 
education.  But  is  an  education  which  ignores  them  all  a 
liberal  education?'  Nay,  is  it  too  much  to  say  that  the  edu- 
cation which  should  embrace  these  subjects  and  no  others 
would  be  a  real  education,  though  an  incomplete  one;  while 
an  education  which  omits  them  is  really  not  an  education  at 
all,  but  a  more  or  less  useful  course  of  intellectual  gymnastics? 

For  what  does  the  middle-class  school  put  in  the  place  of 
all  these  things  which  are  left  out?  It  substitutes  what  is 
usually  comprised  under  the  compendious  title  of  the  "classics" 
—  that  is  to  say,  the  languages,  the  literature,  and  the  history 
of  the  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans,  and  the  geography  of  so 
much  of  the  world  as  was  known  to  these  two  great  nations 
of  antiquity.  Now,  do  not  expect  me  to  depreciate  the  earnest 
and  enlightened  pursuit  of  classical  learning.  I  have  not  the 
least  desire  to  speak  ill  of  such  occupations,  nor  any  sympathy 
with  those  who  run  them  down.  On  the  contrary,  if  my  oppor- 
tunities had  lain  in  that  direction,  there  is  no  investigation 


A  LIBERAL  EDUCATION  317 

into  which  I  could  have  thrown  myself  with  greater  delight 
than  that  of  antiquity. 

What  science  can  present  greater  attractions  than  philology? 
How  can  a  lover  of  literary  excellence  fail  to  rejoice  in  the 
ancient  masterpieces?  And  with  what  consistency  could  I, 
whose  business  lies  so  much  in  the  attempt  to  decipher  the 
past,  and  to  build  up  intelligible  forms  out  of  the  scattered 
fragments  of  long-extinct  beings,  fail  to  take  a  sympathetic, 
though  an  unlearned,  interest  in  the  labours  of  a  Niebuhr,  a 
Gibbon,  or  a  Grote?  Classical  history  is  a  great  section  of 
the  palaeontology  of  man;  and  I  have  the  same  double  respect 
for  it  as  for  other  kinds  of  palaeontology  —  that  is  to  say,  a 
respect  for  the  facts  which  it  estabHshes  as  for  all  facts,  and 
a  still  greater  respect  for  it  as  a  preparation  for  the  discovery 
of  a  law  of  progress. 

But  if  the  classics  were  taught  as  they  might  be  taught  — 
if  boys  and  girls  were  instructed  in  Greek  and  Latin,  not 
merely  as  languages,  but  as  illustrations  of  philological  science; 
if  a  vivid  picture  of  life  on  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean 
two  thousand  years  ago  were  imprinted  on  the  minds  of 
scholars;  if  ancient  history  were  taught,  not  as  a  weary  series 
of  feuds  and  fights,  but  traced  to  its  causes  in  such  men  placed 
under  such  conditions;  if,  lastly,  the  study  of  the  classical 
books  were  followed  in  such  a  manner  as  to  impress  boys  with 
their  beauties,  and  with  the  grand  simplicity  of  their  statement 
of  the  everlasting  problems  of  human  life,  instead  of  with  their 
verbal  and  grammatical  peculiarities;  I  still  think  it  as  little 
proper  that  they  should  form  the  basis  of  a  liberal  education 
for  our  contemporaries,  as  I  should  think  it  fitting  to  make  that 
sort  of  palaeontology  with  which  I  am  familiar  the  back-bone 
of  modern  education. 

It  is  wonderful  how  close  a  parallel  to  classical  training 
could  be  made  out  of  that  palaeontology  to  which  I  refer.  In 
the  first  place  I  could  get  up  an  osteological  primer  so  arid,  so 
pedantic  in  its  terminology,  so  altogether  distasteful  to  the 


3i8  THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY 

youthful  mind,  as  to  beat  the  recent  famous  production  of  the 
head-masters  out  of  the  field  in  all  these  excellences.  Next, 
I  could  exercise  my  boys  upon  easy  fossils,  and  bring  out  all 
their  powers  of  memory  and  all  their  ingenuity  in  the  appli- 
cation of  my  osteogrammatical  rules  to  the  interpretation,  or 
construing,  of  those  fragments.  To  those  who  had  reached 
the  higher  classes,  I  might  supply  odd  bones  to  be  built  up 
into  animals,  giving  great  honour  and  reward  to  him  who  suc- 
ceeded in  fabricating  monsters  most  entirely  in  accordance 
with  the  rules.  That  would  answer  to  verse-making  and 
essay-writing  in  the  dead  languages. 

To  be  sure,  if  a  great  comparative  anatomist  were  to  look 
at  these  fabrications  he  might  shake  his  head,  or  laugh.  But 
what  then?  Would  such  a  catastrophe  destroy  the  parallel? 
What,  think  you,  would  Cicero,  or  Horace,  say  to  the  produc- 
tion of  the  best  sixth  form  going?  And  would  not  Terence 
stop  his  ears  and  run  out  if  he  could  be  present  at  an  English 
performance  of  his  own  plays?  Would  Hamlet,  in  the  mouths 
of  a  set  of  French'  actors,  who  should  insist  on  pronouncing 
English  after  the  fashion  of  their  own  tongue,  be  more  hide- 
ously ridiculous? 

But  it  will  be  said  that  I  am  forgetting  the  beauty,  and  the 
human  interest,  which  appertain  to  classical  studies.  To 
this  I  reply  that  it  is  only  a  very  strong  man  who  can  appre- 
ciate the  charms  of  a  landscape  as  he  is  toiling  up  a  steep 
hill,  along  a  bad  road.  What  with  short-windedness,  stones, 
ruts,  and  a  pervading  sense  of  the  wisdom  of  rest  and  be  thank- 
ful, most  of  us  have  little  enough  sense  of  the  beautiful  under 
these  circumstances.  The  ordinary  school-boy  is  precisely 
in  this  case.  He  finds  Parnassus  uncommonly  steep,  and  there 
is  no  chance  of  his  having  much  time  or  inclination  to  look 
about  him  till  he  gets  to  the  top.  And  nine  times  out  of  ten 
he  does  not  get  to  the  top. 

But  if  this  be  a  fair  picture  of  the  results  of  classical  teach- 
ing at  its  best  —  and  I  gather  from  those  who  have  authority 


A  LIBERAL  EDUCATION  319 

.to  speak  on  such  matters  that  it  is  so  —  what  is  to  be  said  of 
classical  teaching  at  its  worst,  or  in  other  words,  of  the  classics 
of  our  ordinary  middle-class  schools?  ^  I  will  tell  you.  It 
means  getting  up  endless  forms  and  rules  by  heart.  It  means 
turning  Latin  and  Greek  into  English,  for  the  mere  sake  of 
being  able  to  do  it,  and  without  the  smallest  regard  to  the 
worth,  or  worthlessness,  of  the  author  read.  It  means  the 
learning  of  innumerable,  not  always  decent,  fables  in  such  a 
shape  that  the  meaning  they  once  had  is  dried  up  into  utter 
trash;  and  the  only  impression  left  upon  a  boy's  mind  is, 
that  the  people  who  beheved  such  things  must  have  been 
the  greatest  idiots  the  world  ever  saw.  And  it  means,  finally, 
that  after  a  dozen  years  spent  at  this  kind  of  work,  the  sufferer 
shall  be  incompetent  to  interpret  a  passage  in  an  author  he 
has  not  already  got  up;  that  he  shall  loathe  the  sight  of  a 
Greek  or  Latin  book;  and  that  he  shall  never  open,  or 
think  of,  a  classical  writer  again,  until,  wonderful  to  re- 
late, he  insists  upon  submitting  his  sons  to  the  same 
process. 

These  be  your  gods,  O  Israel!  For  the  sake  of  this  net 
result  (and  respectabihty)  the  British  father  denies  his  chil- 
dren all  the  knowledge  they  might  turn  to  account  in  life, 
not  merely  for  the  achievement  of  vulgar  success,  but  for 
guidance  in  the  great  crises  of  human  existence.  This  is 
the  stone  he  offers  to  those  whom  he  is  bound  by  the  strongest 
and  tenderest  ties  to  feed  with  bread. 

If  primary  and  secondary  education  are  in  this  unsatis- 
factory state,  what  is  to  be  said  to  the  universities?  This  is 
an  awful  subject,  and  one  I  almost  fear  to  touch  with  my 
unhallowed  hands;  but  I  can  tell  you  what  those  say  who  have 
authority  to  speak. 

The   Rector   of   Lincoln    College,    in   his   lately   published 

^  For  a  justification  of  what  is  here  said  about  these  schools,  see  that 
valuable  book,  Essays  on  a  Liberal  Education,  passim. 


320  THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY 

valuable  Suggestions  for  Academical  Organization  with  special  • 
reference  to  Oxford,  tells  us:  — 

The  colleges  were,  in  their  origin,  endowments,  not  for  the  elements 
of  a  general  liberal  education,  but  for  the  prolonged  study  of  special 
and  professional  faculties  by  men  of  riper  age.  The  universities  em- 
braced both  these  objects.  The  colleges,  while  they  incidentally 
aided  in  elementary  education,  were  specially  devoted  to  the  highest 
learning.  .  .  . 

This  was  the  theory  of  the  middle-age  university  and  the  design 
of  coUegiate  foundations  in  their  origin.  Time  and  circumstances 
have  brought  about  a  total  change.  The  colleges  no  longer  promote 
the  researches  of  science,  or  direct  professional  study.  Here  and 
there  college  walls  may  shelter  an  occasional  student,  but  not  in 
larger  proportions  than  may  be  found  in  private  Hfe.  Elementary 
teaching  of  youths  under  twenty  is  now  the  only  function  performed 
by  the  university,  and  almost  the  only  object  of  college  endowments. 
Colleges  were  homes  for  the  life-study  of  the  highest  and  most  ab- 
struse parts  of  knowledge.  They  have  become  boarding  schools  in 
which  the  elements  of  the  learned  languages  are  taught  to  youths. 
(P.  127.) 

If  Mr.  Pattison's  high  position,  and  his  obvious  love  and 
respect  for  his  university  be  insufficient  to  convince  the 
outside  world  that  language  so  severe  is  yet  no  more  than  just, 
the  authority  of  the  Commissioners  who  reported  on  the 
University  of  Oxford  in  1850  is  open  to  no  challenge.  Yet 
they   write:  — 

It  is  generally  acknowledged  that  both  Oxford  and  the  country  at 
large  suffer  greatly  from  the  absence  of  a  body  of  learned  men  devot- 
ing their  lives  to  the  cultivation  of  science,  and  to  the  direction  of 
academical  education. 

The  fact  that  so  few  books  of  profound  research  emanate  from  the 
University  of  Oxford,  materially  impairs  its  character  as  a  seat  of 
learning,  and  consequently  its  hold  on  the  respect  of  the  nation. 

Cambridge  can  claim  no  exemption  from  the  reproaches 
addressed  to  Oxford.  And  thus  there  seems  no  escape  from 
the  admission  that  what  we  fondly  call  our  great  seats  of 
learning   are   simply    "boarding   schools"    for   bigger   boys; 


A  LIBERAL  EDUCATION  321 

that  learned  men  are  not  more  numerous  in  them  than  out 
of  them;  that  the  advancement  of  knowledge  is  not  the  object 
of  fellows  of  colleges;  that,  in  the  philosophic  calm  and  med- 
itative stillness  of  their  greenswarded  courts  philosophy  does 
not  thrive,  and  meditation  bears  few  fruits. 

It  is  my  good  fortune  to  reckon  amongst  my  friends  resident 
members  of  both  universities,  who  are  men  of  learning  and 
research,  zealous  cultivators  of  science,  keeping  before  their 
minds  a  noble  ideal  of  a  university,  and  doing  their  best  to 
make  that  ideal  a  reaHty;  and,  to  me,  they  would  necessarily 
typify  the  universities,  did  not  the  authoritative  statements 
I  have  quoted  compel  me  to  believe  that  they  are  exceptional, 
and  not  representative  men.  Indeed,  upon  calm  considera- 
tion, several  circumstances  lead  me  to  think  that  the  Rector 
of  Lincoln  College  and  the  Commissioners  cannot  be  far 
wrong. 

I  believe  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  foreigner  who 
should  wish  to  become  acquainted  with  the  scientific,  or 
the  literary,  activity  of  modern  England,  would  simply  lose 
his  time  and  his  pains  if  he  visited  our  universities  with  that 
object. 

And,  as  for  works  of  profound  research  on  any  subject, 
and,  above  all,  in  that  classical  lore  for  which  the  universities 
profess  to  sacrifice  almost  everything  else,  why,  a  third-rate, 
poverty-stricken  German  university  turns  out  more  produce 
of  that  kind  in  one  year  than  our  vast  and  wealthy  foundations 
elaborate  in  ten. 

Ask  any  man  who  is  investigating  any  question,  profoundly 
and  thoroughly  —  be  it  historical,  philosophical,  philological, 
physical,  literary,  or  theological;  who  is  trying  to  make 
himself  master  of  any  abstract  subject  (except,  perhaps, 
political  economy  and  geology,  both  of  which  are  intensely 
Anglican  sciences),  whether  he  is  not  compelled  to  read  half 
a  dozen  times  as  many  German  as  English  books?  And 
whether,  of  these  English  books,  more  than  one  in  ten  is  the 


322  THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY 

work  of  a  fellow  of  a  college,  or  a  professor  of  an  English 
university? 

Is  this  from  any  lack  of  power  in  the  English  as  compared 
with  the  German  mind?  The  countrymen  of  Grote  and  of 
Mill,  of  Faraday,  of  Robert  Brown,  of  Lyell,  and  of  Darwin, 
to  go  no  further  back  than  the  contemporaries  of  men  of 
middle  age,  can  afford  to  smile  at  such  a  suggestion.  England 
can  show  now,  as  she  has  been  able  to  show  in  every  generation 
since  civilization  spread  over  the  West,  individual  men  who 
hold  their  own  against  the  world,  and  keep  alive  the  old 
tradition  of  her  intellectual  eminence. 

But,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  these  men  are  what  they  are 
in  virtue  of  their  native  intellectual  force,  and  of  a  strength 
of  character  which  will  not  recognize  impediments.  They 
are  not  trained  in  the  courts  of  the  Temple  of  Science,  but 
storm  the  walls  of  that  edifice  in  all  sorts  of  irregular  ways, 
and  with  much  loss  of  time  and  power,  in  order  to  obtain 
their  legitimate  positions. 

Our  universities  not  only  do  not  encourage  such  men; 
do  not  offer  them  positions  in  which  it  should  be  their  highest 
duty  to  do  thoroughly  that  which  they  are  most  capable  of 
doing;  but,  as  far  as  possible,  university  training  shuts  out 
of  the  minds  of  those  among  them,  who  are  subjected  to  it, 
the  prospect  that  there  is  anything  in  the  world  for  which 
they  are  specially  fitted.  Imagine  the  success  of  the  attempt 
to  still  the  intellectual  hunger  of  any  of  the  men  I  have  men- 
tioned, by  putting  before  him,  as  the  object  of  existence,  the 
successful  mimicry  of  the  measure  of  a  Greek  song,  or  the 
roll  of  Ciceronian  prose.  Imagine  how  much  success  would 
be  likely  to  attend  the  attempt  to  persuade  such  men  that 
the  education  which  leads  to  perfection  in  such  elegancies  is 
alone  to  be  called  culture,  while  the  facts  of  history,  the  process 
of  thought,  the  conditions  of  moral  and  social  existence,  and 
the  laws  of  physical  nature  are  left  to  be  dealt  with  as  they  may 
by  outside  barbarians! 


A  LIBERAL  EDUCATION  323 

It  is  not  thus  that  the  German  universities,  from  being 
beneath  notice  a  century  ago,  have  become  what  they  are 
now  —  the  most  intensely  cultivated  and  the  most  productive 
intellectual  corporations  the  world  has  ever  seen. 

The  student  who  repairs  to  them  sees  in  the  list  of  classes 
and  of  professors  a  fair  picture  of  the  world  of  knowledge. 
Whatever  he  needs  to  know  there  is  some  one  ready  to  teach 
him,  some  one  competent  to  discipline  him  in  the  way  of 
learning;  whatever  his  special  bent,  let  him  but  be  able  and 
diligent,  and  in  due  time  he  shall  find  distinction  and  a  career. 
Among  his  professors  he  sees  men  whose  names  are  known 
and  revered  throughout  the  civilised  world;  and  their  living 
example  infects  him  with  a  noble  ambition,  and  a  love  for 
the  spirit  of  work. 

The  Germans  dominate  the  intellectual  world  by  virtue  of 
the  same  simple  secret  as  that  which  made  Napoleon  the  master 
of  old  Europe.  They  have  declared  la  carriere  ouverte  aux 
talents,  and  every  Bursch  marches  with  a  professor's  gown  in 
his  knapsack.  Let  him  become  a  great  scholar,  or  man  of 
science,  and  ministers  will  compete  for  his  services.  In 
Germany  they  do  not  leave  the  chance  of  his  holding  the  office 
he  would  render  illustrious  to  the  tender  mercies  of  a  hot 
canvass,  and  the  final  wisdom  of  a  mob  of  country  parsons. 

In  short,  in  Germany,  the  universities  are  exactly  what  the 
Rector  of  Lincoln  and  the  Commissioners  tell  us  the  English 
universities  are  not;  that  is  to  say,  corporations  "of  learned 
men  devoting  their  lives  to  the  cultivation  of  science,  and  the 
direction  of  academical  education."  They  are  not  "boarding 
schools  for  youths,"  nor  clerical  seminaries;  but  institutions 
for  the  higher  culture  of  men,  in  which  the  theological  faculty 
is  of  no  more  importance  or  prominence  than  the  rest;  and 
which  are  truly  "universities,"  since  they  strive  to  represent 
and  embody  the  totality  of  human  knowledge,  and  to  find 
room  for  all  forms  of  intellectual  activity. 

May  zealous  and  clear-headed  reformers  like  Mr.  Pattison 


324  THOMAS  HENRY  HUXLEY 

succeed  in  their  noble  endeavours  to  shape  our  universities 
towards  some  such  ideal  as  this,  without  losing  what  is  valuable 
and  distinctive  in  their  social  tone!  But  until  they  have 
succeeded,  a  liberal  education  will  be  no  more  obtainable  in 
our  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Universities  than  in  our  public 
schools. 

If  I  am  justified  in  my  conception  of  the  ideal  of  a  liberal 
education;  and  if  what  I  have  said  about  the  existing  edu- 
cational institutions  of  the  country  is  also  true,  it  is  clear  that 
the  two  have  no  sort  of  relation  to  one  another;  that  the  best 
of  our  schools  and  the  most  complete  of  our  university  train- 
ings give  but  a  narrow,  one-sided,  and  essentially  illiberal 
education  —  while  the  worst  give  what  is  really  next  to  no 
education  at  all.  The  South  London  Working-Men's  Col- 
lege could  not  copy  any  of  these  institutions  if  it  would ;  I 
am  bold  enough  to  express  the  conviction  that  it  ought  not 
if  it  could. 

For  what  is  wanted  is  the  reality  and  not  the  mere  name  of 
a  liberal  education;  and  this  college  must  steadily  set  before 
itself  the  ambition  to  be  able  to  give  that  education  sooner 
or  later.  At  present  we  are  but  beginning,  sharpening  our 
educational  tools,  as  it  were,  and,  except  a  modicum  of  physical 
science,  we  are  not  able  to  ofifer  much  more  than  is  to  be  found 
in  an  ordinary  school. 

Moral  and  social  science  —  one  of  the  greatest  and  most 
fruitful  of  our  future  classes,  I  hope  —  at  present  lacks  only 
one  thing  in  our  programme,  and  that  is  a  teacher.  A  con- 
siderable want,  no  doubt;  but  it  must  be  recollected  that  it 
is  much  better  to  want  a  teacher  than  to  want  the  desire  to 
learn. 

Further,  we  need  what,  for  want  of  a  better  name,  I  must 
call  Physical  Geography.  What  I  mean  is  that  which  the 
Germans  call  Erdkunde.  It  is  a  description  of  the  earth,  of 
its  place  and  relation  to  other  bodies;  of  its  general  structure, 
and  of  its  great  features  —  winds,  tides,  mountains,  plains; 


A  LIBERAL  EDUCATION  325 

of  the  chief  forms  of  the  vegetable  and  animal  worlds,  of  the 
varieties  of  man.  It  is  the  peg  upon  which  the  greatest  quan- 
tity of  useful  and  entertaining  scientific  information  can  be 
suspended. 

Literature  is  not  upon  the  College  programme;  but  I  hope 
some  day  to  see  it  there.  For  literature  is  the  greatest  of 
all  sources  of  refined  pleasure,  and  one  of  the  great  uses  of 
a  liberal  education  is  to  enable  us  to  enjoy  that  pleasure. 
There  is  scope  enough  for  the  purposes  of  liberal  education 
in  the  study  of  the  rich  treasures  of  our  own  language  alone. 
All  that  is  needed  is  direction,  and  the  cultivation  of  a  refined 
taste  by  attention  to  sound  criticism.  But  there  is  no  reason 
why  French  and  German  should  not  be  mastered  suificiently 
to  read  what  is  worth  reading  in  those  languages  with  pleasure 
and  with  profit. 

And  finally,  by  and  by,  we  must  have  History;  treated 
not  as  a  succession  of  battles  and  dynasties;  not  as  a  series 
of  biographies;  not  as  evidence  that  Providence  has  always 
been  on  the  side  of  either  Whigs  or  Tories;  but  as  the  devel- 
opment of  man  in  times  past,  and  in  other  conditions  than 
our  own. 

But,  as  it  is  one  of  the  principles  of  our  College  to  be  self- 
supporting,  the  public  must  lead,  and  we  must  follow,  in  these 
matters.  If  my  hearers  take  to  heart  what  I  have  said  about 
liberal  education,  they  will  desire  these  things,  and  I  doubt 
not  we  shall  be  able  to  supply  them.  But  we  must  wait  till 
the  demand  is  made. 


LITERATURE   AND   SCIENCE  ^ 

Matthew  Arnold 

Practical  people  talk  with  a  smile  of  Plato  and  of  his 
absolute  ideas;  and  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that  Plato's  ideas 
do  often  seem  unpractical  and  impracticable,  and  especially 
when  one  views  them  in  connection  with  the  life  of  a  great 
workaday  world  like  the  United  States.  The  necessary 
staple  of  the  life  of  such  a  world  Plato  regards  with  disdain; 
handicraft  and  trade  and  the  working  professions  he  regards 
with  disdain;  but  what  becomes  of  the  life  of  an  industrial 
modern  community  if  you  take  handicraft  and  trade  and  the 
working  professions  out  of  it?  The  base  mechanic  arts  and 
handicrafts,  says  Plato,  bring  about  a  natural  weakness  in 
the  principle  of  excellence  in  a  man,  so  that  he  cannot  govern 
the  ignoble  growths  in  him,  but  nurses  them,  and  cannot 
understand  fostering  any  other.  Those  who  exercise  such 
arts  and  trades,  as  they  have  their  bodies,  he  says,  marred 
by  their  vulgar  businesses,  so  they  have  their  souls,  too,  bowed 
and  broken  by  them.  And  if  one  of  these  uncomely  people 
has  a  mind  to  seek  self-culture  and  philosophy,  Plato  compares 
him  to  a  bald  little  tinker,  who  has  scraped  together  money, 
and  has  got  his  release  from  service,  and  has  had  a  bath,  and 
bought  a  new  coat,  and  is  rigged  out  like  a  bridegroom  about 
to  marry  the  daughter  of  his  master  who  has  fallen  into  poor 
and  helpless  estate. 

Nor  do  the  working  professions  fare  any  better  than  trade 
at  the  hands  of  Plato.  He  draws  for  us  an  inimitable  picture 
of  the  working  lawyer,  and  of  his  life  of  bondage;    he  shows 

^  From  Discourses  in  America.  An  address  delivered  repeatedly  during 
a  visit  to  America  in  1883-84. 


LITERATURE   AND    SCIENCE  327 

how  this  bondage  from  his  youth  up  has  stunted  and  warped 
him,  and  made  him  small  and  crooked  of  soul,  encompassing 
him  with  difficulties  which  he  is  not  man  enough  to  rely  on 
justice  and  truth  as  means  to  encounter,  but  has  recourse, 
for  help  out  of  them,  to  falsehood  and  wrong.  And  so,  says 
Plato,  this  poor  creature  is  bent  and  broken,  and  grows  up 
from  boy  to  man  without  a  particle  of  soundness  in  him, 
although  exceedingly  smart  and  clever  in  his  own  esteem. 

One  cannot  refuse  to  admire  the  artist  who  draws  these 
pictures.  But  we  say  to  ourselves  that  his  ideas  show  the 
influence  of  a  primitive  and  obsolete  order  of  thiijgs,  when 
the  warrior  cast  and  the  priestly  caste  were  alone  in  honor, 
and  the  humble  work  of  the  world  was  done  by  slaves.  We 
have  now  changed  all  that;  the  modern  majority  consists 
in  work,  as  Emerson  declares;  and  in  work,  we  may  add, 
principally  of  such  plain  and  dusty  kind  as  the  work  of  cul- 
tivators of  the  ground,  handicraftsmen,  men  of  trade  and 
business,  men  of  the  working  professions.  Above  all  is  this 
true  in  a  great  industrious  community  such  as  that  of  the 
United  States. 

Now  education,  many  people  go  on  to  say,  is  still  mainly 
governed  by  the  ideas  of  men  like  Plato,  who  lived  when  the 
warrior  caste  and  the  priestly  or  philosophical  class  were  alone 
in  honor,  and  the  really  useful  part  of  the  community  were 
slaves.  It  is  an  education  fitted  for  persons  of  leisure  in  such 
a  community.  This  education  passed  from  Greece  and  Rome 
to  the  feudal  communities  of  Europe,  where  also  the  warrior 
caste  and  the  priestly  caste  were  alone  held  in  honor,  and 
where  the  really  useful  and  working  part  of  the  community, 
though  not  nominally  slaves  as  in  the  pagan  world,  were  prac- 
tically not  much  better  off  than  slaves,  and  not  more  seriously 
regarded.  And  how  absurd  it  is,  people  end  by  saying,  to 
inflict  this  education  upon  an  industrious  modern  community, 
where  very  few  indeed  are  persons  of  leisure,  and  the  mass 
to  be  considered  has  not  leisure,  but  is  bound,  for  its  own  great 


328  MATTHEW  ARNOLD 

good,  and  for  the  great  good  of  the  world  at  large,  to  plain 
labor  and  to  industrial  pursuits,  and  the  education  in  question 
tends  necessarily  to  make  men  dissatisfied  with  these  pursuits 
and  unfitted  for  them! 

That  is  what  is  said.  So  far  I  must  defend  ^ato,  as  to 
plead  that  his  view  of  education  and  studies  is  in  the  general, 
as  it  seems  to  me,  sound  enough,  and  fitted  for  all  sorts  and 
conditions  of  men,  whatever  their  pursuits  may  be.  "An 
intelligent  man,"  says  Plato,  "will  prize  those  studies  which 
result  in  his  soul  getting  soberness,  righteousness,  and  wisdomi, 
and  will  less  value  the  others."  I  cannot  consider  that  a 
bad  description  of  the  aim  of  education,  and  of  the  motives 
which  should  govern  us  in  the  choice  of  studies,  whether  we 
are  preparing  ourselves  for  a  hereditary  seat  in  the  English 
House  of  Lords  or  for  the  pork  trade  in  Chicago. 

Still  I  admit  that  Plato's  world  was  not  ours,  that  his  scorn 
of  trade  and  handicraft  is  fantastic,  that  he  had  no  conception 
of  a  great  industrial  community  such  as  that  of  the  Xlnited 
States,  and  that  such  a  community  must  and  will  shape  its 
education  to  suit  its  own  needs.  If  the  usual  education  handed 
down  to  it  from  the  past  does  not  suit  it,  it  will  certainly 
before  long  drop  this  and  try  another.  The  usual  education 
in  the  past  has  been  mainly  literary.  The  question  is  whether 
the  studies  which  were  long  supposed  to  be  the  best  for  all 
of  us  are  practically  the  best  now;  whether  others  are  not 
better.  The  tyranny  of  the  past,  many  think,  weighs  on 
us  injuriously  in  the  predominance  given  to  letters  in  educa- 
tion. The  question  is  raised  whether,  to  meet  the  needs  of 
our  modern  life,  the  predominance  ought  not  now  to  gass 
from  letters  to  science;  and  naturally  the  question  is  nowhere 
raised  with  more  energy  than  here  in  the  United  States.  The 
design  of  abasing  what  is  called  "mere  literary  instruction 
and  education,"  and  of  exalting  what  is  called  "sound,  exten- 
sive, and  practical  scientific  knowledge,"  is,  in  this  intensely 
modern  world  of  the  United  States,  even  more  perhaps  than 


LITERATURE  AND    SCIENCE  329 

in  Europe,  a  very  popular  design,  and  makes  great  and  rapid 
progress. 

I  am  going  to  ask  whether  the  present  movement  for  ousting 
letters  from  their  old  predominance  in  education,  and  for 
transferring  the  predominance  in  education  to  the  natural 
sciences,  whether  this  brisk  and  flourishing  movement  ought 
to  prevail,  and  whether  it  is  likely  that  in  the  end  it  really 
will  prevail.  An  objection  may  be  raised  which  I  will  antic- 
ipate. My  own  studies  have  been  almost  wholly  in  letters, 
and  my  visits  to  the  field  of  the  natural  sciences  have  been 
very  slight  and  inadequate,  although  those  sciences  have 
always  strongly  moved  my  curiosity.  A  man  of  letters,  it 
will  perhaps  be  said,  is  not  competent  to  discuss  the  compara- 
tive merits  of  letters  and  natural  science  as  means  of  education. 
To  this  objection  I  reply,  first  of  all,  that  his  incompetence 
if  he  attempts  the  discussion  but  is  really  incompetent  for  it, 
will  be  abundantly  visible;  nobody  will  be  taken  in;  he  will 
have  plenty  of  sharp  observers  and  critics  to  save  mankind 
from  that  danger.  But  the  line  I  am  going  to  follow  is,  as 
you  will  soon  discover,  so  extremely  simple,  that  perhaps  it 
may  be  followed  without  failure  even  by  one  who  for  a  more 
ambitious  line  of  discussion  would  be  quite  incompetent. 

Some  of  you  may  possibly  remember  a  phrase  of  mine 
which  has  been  the  object  of  a  good  deal  of  comment;  an 
observation  to  the  effect  that  in  our  culture,  the  aim  being 
to  know  ourselves  and  the  world,  we  have,  as  the  means  to  this 
end,  to  know  the  best  which  has  been  thought  and  said  in  the 
world.  A  man  of  science,  who  is  also  an  excellent  writer  and 
the  very  prince  of  debaters.  Professor  Huxley,  in  a  discourse 
at  the  opening  of  Sir  Josiah  Mason's  College  at  Birmingham, 
laying  hold  of  this  phrase,  expanded  it  by  quoting  some  more 
words  of  mine,  which  are  these:  "The  civilized  world  is  to 
be  regarded  as  now  being,  for  intellectual  and  spiritual  pur- 
poses, one  great  confederation,  bound  to  a  joint  action  and 
working  to  a  common  result;    and  whose  members  have  for 


330 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD 


their  proper  outfit  a  knowledge  of  Greek,  Roman,  and  Eastern 
antiquity,  and  of  one  another.  Special  local  and  temporary 
advantages  being  put  out  of  account,  that  modern  nation  will 
in  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  sphere  make  most  progress, 
which  most  thoroughly  carries  out  this  programme." 

Now  on  my  phrase,  thus  enlarged.  Professor  Huxley  remarks 
that  when  I  speak  of  the  above-mentioned  knowledge  as 
enabling  us  to  know  ourselves  and  the  world,  I  assert  literature 
to  contain  the  materials  which  suffice  for  thus  making  us 
know  ourselves  and  the  world.  But  it  is  not  by  any  means 
clear,  says  he,  that  after  having  learned  all  which  ancient 
and  modern  literatures  have  to  tell  us,  we  have  laid  a  suffi- 
ciently broad  and  deep  foundation  for  that  criticism  of  life, 
that  knowledge  of  ourselves  and  the  world,  which  constitutes 
culture.  On  the  contrary.  Professor  Huxley  declares  that 
he  finds  himself  "wholly  unable  to  admit  that  either  nations 
or  individuals  will  really  advance,  if  their  outfit  draws  nothing 
from  the  stores  of  physical  science.  An  army  without  weapons 
of  precision,  and  with  no  particular  base  of  operations,  might 
more  hopefully  enter  upon  a  campaign  on  the  Rhine,  than  a 
man,  devoid  of  a  knowledge  of  what  physical  science  has  done 
in  the  last  century,  upon  a  criticism  of  life." 

This  shows  how  needful  it  is  for  those  who  are  to  discuss 
any  matter  together,  to  have  a  common  understanding  as 
to  the  sense  of  the  terms  they  employ,  —  how  needful,  and 
how  difficult.  What  Professor  Huxley  says  implies  just  the 
reproach  which  is  so  often  brought  against  the  study  of  belles 
letlres,  as  they  are  called:  that  the  study  is  an  elegant  one, 
but  slight  and  ineffectual;  a  smattering  of  Greek  and  Latin 
and  other  ornamental  things,  of  little  use  for  any  one  whose 
object  is  to  get  at  truth,  and  to  be  a  practical  man.  So,  too, 
M.  Renan  talks  of  the  "superficial  humanism"  of  a  school 
course  which  treats  us  as  if  we  were  all  going  to  be  poets, 
writers,  preachers,  orators,  and  he  opposes  this  humanism  to 
positive  science,  or  the  critical  search  after  truth.     And  there 


LITERATURE    AND    SCIENCE  331 

is  always  a  tendency  in  those  who  are  remonstrating  against 
the  predominance  of  letters  in  education,  to  understand  by 
letters  belles  lettres,  and  by  belles  lettres  a  superficial  humanism, 
the  opposite  of  science  or  true  knowledge. 

But  when  we  talk  of  knowing  Greek  and  Roman  antiquity, 
for  instance,  which  is  the  knowledge  people  have  called  the 
humanities,  I  for  my  part  mean  a  knowledge  which  is  some- 
thing more  than  a  superficial  humanism,  mainly  decorative. 
"I  call  all  teaching  scientific,'"  says  Wolf,  the  critic  of  Homer, 
"which  is  systematically  laid  out  and  followed  up  to  its  orig- 
inal sources.  For  example:  a  knowledge  of  classical  antiq- 
uity is  scientific  when  the  remains  of  classical  antiquity  are 
correctly  studied  in  the  original  languages."  There  can  be 
no  doubt  that  Wolf  is  perfectly  right;  that  all  learning  is 
scientific  which  is  systematically  laid  out  and  followed  up  to 
its  original  sources,  and  that  a  genuine  humanism  is  scientific. 

When  I  speak  of  knowing  Greek  and  Roman  antiquity, 
therefore,  as  a  help  to  knowing  ourselves  and  the  world,  I  mean 
more  than  a  knowledge  of  so  much  vocabulary,  so  much 
grammar,  so  many  portions  of  authors  in  the  Greek  and  Latin 
languages;  I  mean  knowing  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  and  their 
]ife  and  gwiius,  and  what  they  were  and  did  in  the  world; 
what  we  g£t  from  them,  and  what  is  its  value.  That,  at  least, 
is  the  ideal ;  and  when  we  talk  of  endeavoring  to  know  Greek 
and  Roman  antiquity,  as  a  help  to  knowing  ourselves  and  the 
world,  we  mean  endeavoring  so  to  know  them  as  to  satisfy 
this  ideal,  however  much  we  may  still  fall  short  of  it. 

The  same  also  as  to  knowing  our  own  and  other  modern 
nations,  with  the  like  aim  of  getting  to  understand  ourselves 
and  the  world.  To  know  the  best  that  has  been  thought  and 
said  by  the  modern  nations,  is  to  know,  says  Professor  Huxley, 
"only  what  modern  literatures  have  to  tell  us;  it  is  the  criti- 
cism of  life  contained  in  modern  literature."  And  yet  "the 
distinctive  character  of  our  times,"  he  urges,  "lies  in  the 
vast  and  constantly  increasing  part  which  is  played  by  natural 


332  MATTHEW  ARNOLD 

knowledge."  And  how,  therefore,  can  a  man,  devoid  of  knowl- 
edge of  what  physical  science  has  done  in  the  last  century, 
enter  hopefully  upon  a  criticism  of  modern  life? 

Let  us,  I  say,  be  agreed  about  the  meaning  of  the  t^rms 
we  are  using.  I  talk  of  knowing  the  best  which  has  been 
thought  and  uttered  in  the  world;  Professor  Huxley  says 
this  means  knowing  literature.  Literature  is  a  large  word; 
it  may  mean  everything  written  with  letters  or  printed  in 
a  book.  Euclid's  Elements  and  Newton's  Principia  are  thus 
literature.  All  knowledge  that  reaches  us  through  books  is 
literature.  But  by  literature  Professor  Huxley  means  bMl^ 
lettres.  He  means  to  make  me  say,  that  knowing  the  best 
which  has  been  thought  and  said  by  the  modern  nations  is 
knowing  their  belles  lettres  and  no  more.  And  this  is  no  suffi- 
cient equipment,  he  argues,  for  a  criticism  of  modern  life. 
But  as  I  do  not  mean,  by  knowing  ancient  Rome,  knowing 
merely  more  or  less  of  Latin  belles  lettres,  and  taking  no  account 
of  Rome's  military,  and  political,  and  legal,  and  administrative 
work  in  the  world;  and  as,  by  knowing  ancient  Greece,  I 
understand  knowing  her  as  the  giver  of  Greek  art,  and  the 
guide  to  a  free  and  right  use  of  reason  and  to  scientific  method, 
and  the  founder  of  our  mathematics  and  physics  and  astron- 
omy and  biology,  —  I  understand  knowing  her  as  all  this, 
and  not  merely  knowing  certain  Greek  poems,  and  histories, 
and  treatises,  and  speeches,  —  so  as  to  the  knowledge  of 
modern  nations  also.  By  knowing  modern  nations,  I  mean 
not  merely  knowing  their  belles  lettres,  but  knowing  also  what 
has  been  done  by  such  men  as  Copernicus,  Galileo,  Newton, 
Darwin.  "Our  ancestors  learned,"  says  Professor  Huxley, 
"that  the  earth  is  the  center  of  the  visible  universe,  and  that 
man  is  the  cynosure  of  things  terrestrial;  and  more  especially 
was  it  inculcated  that  the  course  of  nature  has  no  fixed  order, 
but  that  it  could  be,  and  constantly  was,  altered."  But  for 
us  now,  continues  Professor  Huxley,  "the  notions  of  the  begin- 
ning and  the  end  of  the  world  entertained  by  our  forefathers 


LITERATURE    AND    SCIENCE  333 

are  no  longer  credible.  It  is  very  certain  that  the  earth  is 
not  the  chief  body  in  the  material  universe,  and  that  the 
world  is  not  subordinated  to  man's  use.  It  is  even  more 
certain  that  nature  is  the  expression  of  a  definite  order, 
with  which  nothing  interferes."  "And  yet,"  he  cries,  "the 
purely  classical  education  advocated  by  the  representatives 
of  the  humanists  in  our  day  gives  no  inkling  of  all  this!" 

In  due  place  and  time  I  will  just  touch  upon  that  vexed 
question  of  classical  education;  but  at  present  the  question 
is  as  to  what  is  meant  by  knowing  the  best  which  modern 
nations  have  thought  and  said.  It  is  not  knowing  their 
belles  lettres  merely  which  is  meant.  To  know  Italian  belles 
lettres  is  not  to  know  Italy,  and  to  know  English  belles  lettres  is 
not  to  know  England.  Into  knowing  Italy  and  England 
there  comes  a  great  deal  more,  Galileo  and  Newton  amongst 
it.  The  reproach  of  being  a  superficial  humanism,  a  tincture 
of  belles  lettres,  may  attach  rightly  enough  to  some  other  dis- 
ciplines; but  to  the  particular  discipline  recommended  when 
I  proposed  knowing  the  best  that  has  been  thought  and  said 
in  the  world,  it  does  not  apply.  In  that  best  I  certainly  in- 
clude what  in  modern  times  has  been  thought  and  said  by  the 
great  observers  and  knowers  of  nature. 

There  is,  therefore,  really  no  question  between  Professor 
Huxley  and  me  as  to  whether  knowing  the  great  results  of 
the  modern  scientific  study  of  nature  is  not  required  as  a 
part  of  our  culture,  as  well  as  knowing  the  products  of  litera- 
ture and  art.  But  to  follow  the  processes  by  which  those 
results  are  reached,  ought,  say  the  friends  of  physical  science, 
to  be  made  the  staple  of  education  for  the  bulk  of  mankind. 
And  here  there  does  arise  a  question  between  those  whom 
Professor  Huxley  calls  with  playful  sarcasm  "the  Levites  of 
culture,"  and  those  whom  the  poor  humanist  is  sometimes 
apt  to  regard  as  its  Nebuchadnezzars. 

The  great  results  of  the  scientific  investigation  of  nature 
we  are  agreed  upon  knowing,  but  how  much  of  our  study  are 


334  MATTHEW  ARNOLD 

we  bound  to  give  to  the  processes  by  which  those  results  are 
reached?  The  results  have  their  visible  bearing  on  human 
life.  But  all  the  processes,  too,  all  the  items  of  fact  by  which 
those  results  are  reached  and  established,  are  interesting. 
All  knowledge  is  interesting  to  a  wise  man,  and  the  knowledge 
of  nature  is  interesting  to  all  men.  It  is  very  interesting 
to  know,  that,  from  the  albuminous  white  of  the  egg,  the 
chick  in  the  egg  gets  the  materials  for  its  flesh,  bones,  blood, 
and  feathers  ;  while,  from  the  fatty  yolk  of  the  egg,  it  gets 
the  heat  and  energy  which  enable  it  at  length  to  break  its 
shell  and  begin  the  world.  It  is  less  interesting,  perhaps, 
but  still  it  is  interesting,  to  know  that  when  a  taper  burns, 
the  wax  is  converted  into  carbonic  acid  and  water.  More- 
over, it  is  quite  true  that  the  habit  of  dealing  with  facts, 
which  is  given  by  the  study  of  nature,  is,  as  the  friends  of 
physical  science  praise  it  for  being,  an  excellent  discipline. 
The  appeal,  in  the  study  of  nature,  is  constantly  to  observa- 
tion and  experiment;  not  only  is  it  said  that  the  thing  is  so, 
but  we  can  be  made  to  see  that  it  is  so.  Not  only  does  a  man 
tell  us  that  when  a  taper  burns  the  wax  is  converted  into 
carbonic  acid  and  water,  as  a  man  may  tell  us,  if  he  likes, 
that  Charon  is  punting  his  ferryboat  on  the  river  Styx,  or 
that  Victor  Hugo  is  a  sublime  poet,  or  Mr.  Gladstone  the 
most  admirable  of  statesmen;  but  we  are  made  to  see  that 
the  conversion  into  carbonic  acid  and  water  does  actually 
happen.  This  reality  of  natural  knowledge  it  is,  which 
makes  the  friends  of  physical  science  contrast  it,  as  a  knowl- 
edge of  things,  with  the  humanist's  knowledge,  which  is,  they 
say,  a  knowledge  of  words.  And  hence  Professor  Huxley  is 
moved  to  lay  it  down  that,  "for  the  purpose  of  attaining  real 
culture,  an  exclusively  scientific  education  is  at  least  as 
effectual  as  an  exclusively  literary  education."  And  a  certain 
President  of  the  Section  for  Mechanical  Science  in  the  British 
Association  is,  in  Scripture  phrase,  "very  bold,"  and  declares 
that  if  a  man,  in  his  mental  training,  "has  substituted  litera- 


LITERATURE  AND   SCIENCE  335 

ture  and  history  for  natural  science,  he  has  chosen  the  less 
useful   alternative."     But   whether   we   go   these   lengths   or 
not,   we  must  all  admit  that  in  natural  science   the  habit 
gained  of  dsaliftg  with  facts  is  a  most  valuable  cjiseipiiire','' 
and  that  every  one  should  have  some  experience  of  it. 

More  than  this,  however,  is  demanded  by  the  reformers. 
It  is  proposed  to  make  the  training  in  natural  science  the 
main  part  of  education,  for  the  great  majority  of  mankind  at 
any  rate.  And  here,  I  confess,  I  part  company  with  the  friends 
of  physical  science,  with  whom  up  to  this  point  I  have  been 
agreeing.  In  differing  from  them,  however,  I  wish  to  proceed 
with  the  utmost  caution  and  dififidence.  The  smallness  of 
my  own  acquaintance  with  the  disciplines  of  natural  science 
is  ever  before  my  mind,  and  I  am  fearful  of  doing  these  disci- 
plines an  injustice.  The  ability  and  pugnacity  of  the  partisans 
of  natural  science  make  them  formidable  persons  to  contradict. 
The  tone  of  tentative  inquiry,  which  befits  a  being  of  dim 
faculties  and  bounded  knowledge,  is  the  tone  I  would  wish 
to  take  and  not  to  depart  from.  At  present  it  seems  to  me, 
that  those  who  are  for  giving  to  natural  knowledge,  as  they 
call  it,  the  chief  place  in  the  education  of  the  majority  of 
mankind,  leave  one  important  thing  out  of  their  account: 
the  constitution  of  human  nature.  But  I  put  this  forward  on 
the  strength  of  some  facts  not  at  all  recondite,  very  far  from 
it;  facts  capable  of  being  stated  in  the  simplest  possible 
fashion,  and  to  which,  if  I  so  state  them,  the  man  of  science 
will,  I  am  sure,  be  willing  to  allow  their  due  weight. 

Deny  the  facts  altogether,  I  think,  he  hardly  can.  He  can 
hardly  deny,  that  when  we  set  ourselves  to  enumerate  the 
powers  which  go  to  the  building  up  of  human  life,  and  say 
that  they  are  the  power  of  conduct,  the  power  of  intgl^ct 
and  knowledge,  the  power  of  beauty,  and  the  power  of  social 
life  and  manners,  —  he  can  hardly  deny  that  this  scheme, 
though  drawn  in  rough  and  plain  lines  enough,  and  not  pre- 
tending to  scientific  exactness,  does  yet  give  a  fairly  true 


336  MATTHEW  ARNOLD 

representation  of  the  matter.  Human  nature  is  built  up  by 
these  powers;  we  have  the  need  for  them  all.  When  we 
have  rightly  met  and  adjusted  the  claims  of  them  all,  we 
shall  then  be  in  a  fair  way  for  getting  soberness  and  righteous- 
ness, with  wisdom.  This  is  evident  enough,  and  the  friends 
of  physical  science  would  admit  it. 

But  perhaps  they  may  not  have  sufi&ciently  observed 
another  thing:  namely,  that  the  several  piQwers  just  men- 
tioned are  not  isolated,  but  there  is,  in  the  generality  of 
mankind,  a  perpetual  tendency  to  relate  them  one  to  another 
in  divers  ways.  With  one  such  way  of  relating  them  I  am 
particularly  concerned  now.  Following  our  instinct  for 
intellect  and  knowledge,  we  acquire  pieces  of  knowledge; 
and  presently,  in  the  generality  of  men,  there  arises  the  desire 
to  relate  these  pieces  of  knowledge  to  our  sense  for  conduct, 
to  our  sense  for  beauty,  —  and  there  is  weariness  and  dis- 
satisfaction if  the  desire  is  balked.  Now  in  this  desire  lies, 
I  think,  the  strength  of  that  hold  which  letters  have 
upon   us. 

All  knowledge  is,  as  I  said  just  now,  interesting;  and  even 
items  of  knowledge  which  from  the  nature  of  the  case  cannot 
well  be  related,  but  must  stand  isolated  in  our  thoughts,  have 
their  interest.  Even  lists  of  exceptions  have  their  interest. 
If  we  are  studying  Greek  accents,  it  is  interesting  to  know 
that  pais  and  pas,  and  some  other  monosyllables  of  the  same 
form  of  declension,  do  not  take  the  circumflex  upon  the  last 
syllable  of  the  genitive  plural,  but  vary,  in  this  respect,  from 
the  common  rule.  If  we  are  studying  physiology,  it  is  inter- 
esting to  know  that  the  pulmonary  artery  carries  dark  blood 
and  the  pulmonary  vein  carries  bright  blood,  departing  in 
this  respect  from  the  common  rule  for  the  division  of  labor 
between  the  veins  and  the  arteries.  But  every  one  knows 
how  we  seek  naturally  to  combine  the  pieces  of  our  knowledge 
together,  to  bring  them  under  general  rules,  to  relate  them  to 
principles;   and  how  unsatisfactory  and  tiresome  it  would  be 


LITERATURE  AND  SCIENCE  337 

to  go  on  forever  learning  lists  of  exceptions,  or  accumulating 
items  of  fact  which  must  stand  isolated. 

Well,  that  same  need  of  relating  our  knowledge,  which 
operates  here  within  the  sphere  of  our  knowledge  itself,  we 
shall  find  operating,  also,  outside  that  sphere.  We  experi- 
ence, as  we  go  on  learning  and  knowing,  —  the  vast  majority 
of  us  experience,  —  the  need  of  relating  what  we  have  learned 
and  known  to  the  sense  which  we  have  in  us  for  conduct,  to 
the  sense  which  we  have  in  us  for  beauty. 

A  certain  Greek  prophetess  of  Mantineia  in  Arcadia, 
Diotima  by  name,  once  explained  to  the  philosopher  Socrates 
that  love,  and  impulse,  and  bent  of  all  kinds,  is,  in  fact,  noth- 
ing else  but  the  desire  in  men  that  good  should  forever  be 
present  to  them.  This  desire  for  good,  Diotima  assured 
Socrates,  is  our  fundamental  desire,  of  which  fundamental 
desire  every  impulse  in  us  is  only  some  one  particular  form. 
And  therefore  this  fundamental  desire  it  is,  I  suppose,  —  this 
desire  in  men  that  good  should  be  forever  present  to  them, 
—  which  acts  in  us  when  we  feel  the  impulse  for  relating 
our  knowledge  to  our  sense  for  conduct  and  to  our  sense  for 
beauty.  At  any  rate,  with  men  in  general  the  instinct 
exists.  Such  is  human  nature.  And  the  instinct,  it  will 
be  admitted,  is  innocent,  and  human  nature  is  preserved 
by  our  following  the  lead  of  its  innocent  instincts.  There- 
fore, in  seeking  to  gratify  this  instinct  in  question,  we  are 
following  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  in  humanity. 

But,  no  doubt,  some  kinds  of  knowledge  cannot  be  made 
to  directly  serve  the  instinct  in  question,  cannot  be  directly 
related  to  the  sense  for  beauty,  to  the  sense  for  conduct. 
These  are  instrument-knowledges;  they  lead  on  to  other 
knowledges,  which  can.  A  man  who  passes  his  life  in  instru- 
ment-knowledges is  a  specialist.  They  may  be  invaluable  as 
instruments  to  something  beyond,  for  those  who  have  the 
gift  thus  to  employ  them;  and  they  may  be  disciplines  in 
themselves  wherein  it  is  useful  for  every  one  to  have  some 


338  MATTHEW  ARNOLD 

schooling.  But  it  is  inconceivable  that  the  generality  of 
men  should  pass  all  their  mental  life  with  Greek  accents  or 
with  formal  logic.  My  friend  Professor  Sylvester,  who  is 
one  of  the  first  mathematicians  in  the  world,  holds  tran- 
scendental doctrines  as  to  the  virtue  of  mathematics,  but 
those  doctrines  are  not  for  common  men.  In  the  very  Senate 
House  and  heart  of  our  English  Cambridge  I  once  ventured, 
though  not  without  an  apology  for  my  profaneness,  to  hazard 
the  opinion  that  for  the  majority  of  mankind  a  little  of 
mathematics,  even,  goes  a  long  way.  Of  course  this  is  quite 
consistent  with  their  being  of  immense  importance  as  an  in- 
trument  to  something  else;  but  it  is  the  few  who  have  the 
aptitude  for  thus  using  them,  not  the  bulk  of  mankind. 

The  natural  sciences  do  not,  however,  stand  on  the  same 
footing  with  these  instrument-knowledges.  Experience  shows 
us  that  the  generality  of  men  will  find  more  interest  in  learning 
that,  when  a  taper  burns,  the  wax  is  converted  into  carbonic 
acid  and  water,  or  in  learning  the  explanation  of  the  phe- 
nomenon of  dew,  -or  in  learning  how  the  circulation  of  the 
blood  is  carried  on,  than  they  find  in  learning  that  the  genitive 
plural  of  pais  and  pas  does  not  take  the  circumflex  on  the 
termination.  And  one  piece  of  natural  knowledge  is  added 
to  another,  and  others  are  added  to  that,  and  at  last  we  come 
to  propositions  so  interesting  as  Mr.  Darwin's  famous  proposi- 
tion that  "our  ancestor  was  a  hairy  quadruped  furnished  with 
a  tail  and  pointed  ears,  probably  arboreal  in  his  habits." 
Or  we  come  to  propositions  of  such  reach  and  magnitude  as 
those  which  Professor  Huxley  delivers,  when  he  says  that  the 
notions  of  our  forefathers  about  the  beginning  and  the  end 
of  the  world  were  all  wrong,  and  that  nature  is  the  expression 
of  a  definite  order  with  which  nothing  interferes. 

Interesting,  indeed,  these  results  of  science  are,  important 
they  are,  and  we  should  all  of  us  be  acquainted  with  them. 
But  what  I  now  wish  you  to  mark  is,  that  we  are  still,  when 
they  are  propounded  to  us  and  we  receive  them,  we  are  still 


LITERATURE  AND   SCIENCE  339 

in  the  sphere  of  intellect  and  knowledge.  And  for  the  gener- 
ahty  of  men  there  will  be  found,  I  say,  to  arise,  when  they 
have  duly  taken  in  the  proposition  that  their  ancestor  was 
"a  hairy  quadruped  furnished  with  a  tail  and  pointed  ears, 
probably  arboreal  in  his  habits,"  there  will  be  found  to  arise 
an  invincible  desire  to  relate  this  proposition  to  the  sense  in 
us  for  conduct,  and  to  the  sense  in  us  for  beauty.  But  this 
the  men  of  science  will  not  do  for  us,  and  will  hardly  even 
profess  to  do.  They  will  give  us  other  pieces  of  knowledge, 
other  facts,  about  other  animals  and  their  ancestors,  or  about 
plants,  or  about  stones,  or  about  stars;  and  they  may  finally 
bring  us  to  those  great  "general  conceptions  of  the  universe, 
which  are  forced  upon  us  all,"  says  Professor  Huxley,  "by 
the  progress  of  physical  science."  But  still  it  will  be  knowl- 
edge only  which  they  give  us;  knowledge  not  put  for  us  into 
relation  with  our  sense  for  conduct,  our  sense  for  beauty, 
and  touched  with  emotion  by  being  so  put;  not  thus  put  for 
us,  and  therefore,  to  the  majority  of  mankind,  after  a  certain 
while,  unsatisfying,  wearying. 

Not  to  the  born  naturalist,  I  admit.  But  what  do  we 
mean  by  a  born  naturalist?  We  mean  a  man  in  whom  the 
zeal  for  observing  nature  is  so  uncommonly  strong  and  emi- 
nent, that  it  marks  him  off  from  the  bulk  of  mankind.  Such 
a  man  will  pass  his  life  happily  in  collecting  natural  knowledge 
and  reasoning  upon  it,  and  will  ask  for  nothing,  or  hardly 
anything,  more.  I  have  heard  it  said  that  the  sagacious  and 
admirable  naturalist  whom  we  lost  not  very  long  ago,  Mr. 
Darwin,  once  owned  to  a  friend  that  for  his  part  he  did  not 
experience  the  necessity  for  two  things  which  most  men  find 
so  necessary  to  them  —  religion  and  poetry;  science  and 
the  domestic  affections,  he  thought,  were  enough.  To  a 
born  naturalist,  I  can  well  understand  that  this  should  seem 
so.  So  absorbing  is  his  occupation  with  nature,  so  strong 
his  love  for  his  occupation,  that  he  goes  on  acquiring  natural 
knowledge   and   reasoning   upon   it,   and   has   little   time   or 


340  MATTHEW  ARNOLD 

inclination  for  thinking  about  getting  it  related  to  the  desire 
in  man  for  conduct,  the  desire  in  man  for  beauty.  He  relates 
it  to  them  for  himself  as  he  goes  along,  so  far  as  he  feels 
the  need;  and  he  draws  from  the  domestic  affections  all  the 
additional  solace  necessary.  But  then  Darwins  are  ex- 
tremely rare.  Another  great  and  admirable  master  of  natural 
knowledge,  Faraday,  was  a  Sandemanian.  That  is  to  say, 
he  related  his  knowledge  to  his  instinct  for  conduct  and  to 
his  instinct  for  beauty,  by  the  aid  of  that  respectable  Scottish 
sectary,  Robert  Sandeman.  And  so  strong,  in  general,  is  the 
demand  of  religion  and  poetry  to  have  their  share  in  a  man, 
to  associate  themselves  with  his  knowing,  and  to  relieve  and 
rejoice  it,  that  probably,  for  one  man  amongst  us  with  the 
disposition  to  do  as  Darwin  did  in  this  respect,  there  are  at 
least  fifty  with  the  disposition  to  do  as  Faraday. 

Education  lays  hold  upon  us,  in  fact,  by  satisfying  this 
demand.  Professor  Huxley  holds  up  to  scorn  mediaeval 
education,  with  its  neglect  of  the  knowledge  of  nature,  its 
poverty  even  of  literary  studies,  its  formal  logic  devoted  to 
"showing  how  and  why  that  which  the  Church  said  was 
true  must  be  true."  But  the  great  mediaeval  universities 
were  not  brought  into  being,  we  may  be  sure,  by  the  zeal  for 
giving  a  jejune  and  contemptible  education.  Kings  have 
been  their  nursing  fathers,  and  queens  have  been  their  nursing 
mothers,  but  not  for  this.  The  mediaeval  universities  came 
into  being,  because  the  supposed  knowledge,  delivered  by 
Scripture  and  the  Church,  so  deeply  engaged  men's  hearts, 
by  so  simply,  easily,  and  powerfully  relating  itself  to  their 
desire  for  conduct,  their  desire  for  beauty.  All  other  knowl- 
edge was  dominated  by  this  supposed  knowledge  and  was 
subordinated  to  it,  because  of  the  surpassing  strength  of  the 
hold  which  it  gained  upon  the  affections  of  men,  by  allying 
itself  profoundly  with  their  sense  for  conduct,  their  sense  for 
beauty. 

But  now,  says  Professor  Huxley,  conceptions  of  the  uni- 


LITERATURE  AND   SCIENCE  341 

verse  fatal  to  the  notions  held  by  our  forefathers  have  been 
forced  upon  us  by  physical  science.  Grant  to  him  that  they 
are  thus  fatal,  that  the  new  conceptions  must  and  will  soon 
become  current  everywhere,  and  that  every  one  will  finally 
perceive  them  to  be  fatal  to  the  beliefs  of  our  forefathers. 
The  need  of  humane  letters,  as  they  are  truly  called,  because 
they  serve  the  paramount  desire  in  men  that  good  should  be 
forever  present  to  them,  —  the  need  of  humane  letters  to 
establish  a  relation  between  the  new  conceptions,  and  our 
instinct  for  beauty,  our  instinct  for  conduct,  is  only  the  more 
visible.  The  middle  age  could  do  without  humane  letters, 
as  it  could  do  without  the  study  of  nature,  because  its  supposed 
knowledge  was  made  to  engage  its  emotions  so  powerfully. 
Grant  that  the  supposed  knowledge  disappears,  its  power  of 
being  made  to  engage  the  emotions  will  of  course  disappear 
along  with  it,  —  but  the  emotions  themselves,  and  their 
claim  to  be  engaged  and  satisfied,  will  remain.  Now  if  we 
find  by  experience  that  humane  letters  have  an  undeniable 
power  of  engaging  the  emotions,  the  importance  of  humane 
letters  in  a  man's  training  becomes  not  less,  but  greater,  in 
proportion  to  the  success  of  modern  science  in  extirpating 
what  it  calls  "mediaeval  thinking." 

Have  humane  letters,  then,  have  poetry  and  eloquence, 
the  power  here  attributed  to  them  of  engaging  the  emotions, 
and  do  they  exercise  it?  And  if  they  have  it  and  exercise  it, 
how  do  they  exercise  it,  so  as  to  exert  an  influence  upon  man's 
sense  for  conduct,  his  sense  for  beauty?  Finally,  even  if 
they  both  can  and  do  exert  an  influence  upon  the  senses  in 
question,  how  are  they  to  relate  to  them  the  results,  —  the 
modern  results,  —  of  natural  science?  All  these  questions 
may  be  asked.  First,  have  poetry  and  eloquence  the  power 
of  calling  out  the  emotions?  The  appeal  is  to  experience. 
Experience  shows  that  for  the  vast  majority  of  men,  for 
mankind  in  general,  they  have  the  power.  Next,  do  they 
exercise  it?     They  do.     But  then,  how  do  they  exercise  it  so 


342  MATTHEW  ARNOLD 

as  to  affect  man's  sense  for  conduct,  his  sense  for  beauty? 
And  this  is  perhaps  a  case  for  applying  the  Preacher's  words: 
"Though  a  man  labor  to  seek  it  out,  yet  he  shall  not  find  it; 
yea,  further,  though  a  wise  man  think  to  know  it,  yet  shall 
he  not  be  able  to  find  it."  ^  Why  should  it  be  one  thing, 
in  its  effect  upon  the  emotions,  to  say,  "Patience  is  a  virtue," 
and  quite  another  thing,  in  its  effect  upon  the  emotions,  to 
say  with  Homer, 

tXtjtov  yap  Moipai  Qvfxov  deaav  audpuwoLaLV  —  ^ 

"for  an  enduring  heart  have  the  destinies  appointed  to  the 
children  of  men"?  Why  should  it  be  one  thing,  in  its  effect 
upon  the  emotions,  to  say  with  philosopher  Spinoza,  Felicitas 
in  eo  consistit  quod  homo  suum  esse  conservare  potest  —  "Man's 
happiness  consists  in  his  being  able  to  preserve  his  own 
essence,"  and  quite  another  thing,  in  its  effect  upon  the 
emotions,  to  say  with  the  Gospel,  "What  is  a  man  advantaged, 
if  he  gain  the  whole  world,  and  lose  himself,  forfeit  himself?" 
How  does  this  difference  of  effect  arise?  I  cannot  tell,  and 
I  am  not  much  concerned  to  know;  the  important  thing  is 
that  it  does  arise,  and  that  we  can  profit  by  it.  But  how, 
finally,  are  poetry  and  eloquence  to  exercise  the  power  of 
relating  the  modern  results  of  natural  science  to  man's  instinct 
for  conduct,  his  instinct  for  beauty?  And  here  again  I  answer 
that  I  do  not  know  how  they  will  exercise  it,  but  that  they 
can  and  will  exercise  it  I  am  sure.  I  do  not  mean  that  modern 
philosophical  poets  and  modern  philosophical  moralists  are 
to  come  and  relate  for  us,  in  express  terms,  the  results  of 
modern  scientific  research  to  our  instinct  for  conduct,  our 
instinct  for  beauty.  But  I  mean  that  we  shall  find,  as  a 
matter  of  experience,  if  we  know  the  best  that  has  been 
thought  and  uttered  in  the  world,  we  shall  find  that  the  art 
and  poetry  and  eloquence  of  men  who  lived,  perhaps,  long 

1  Ecclesiastes,  viii.  17. 

2  Iliad,  xxiv.  49. 


LITERATURE  AND   SCIENCE  343 

ago,  who  had  the  most  limited  natural  knowledge,  who  had 
the  most  erroneous  conceptions  about  many  important 
matters,  we  shall  find  that  this  art,  and  poetry,  and  eloquence, 
have  in  fact  not  only  the  power  of  refreshing  and  delighting 
us,  they  have  also  the  power,  —  such  is  the  strength  and 
worth,  in  essentials,  of  their  authors'  criticism  of  life,  — 
they  have  a  fortifying,  and  elevating,  and  quickening,  and 
suggestive  power,  capable  of  wonderfully  helping  us  to  re- 
late the  results  of  modern  science  to  our  need  for  conduct, 
our  need  for  beauty.  Homer's  conceptions  of  the  physical 
universe  were,  I  imagine,  grotesque;  but  really,  under  the 
shock  of  hearing  from  modern  science  that  "the  world  is  not 
subordinated  to  man's  use,  and  that  man  is  not  the  cynosure 
of  things  terrestrial,"  I  could,  for  my  own  part,  desire  no 
better  comfort  than  Homer's  line  which  I  quoted  just  now, 

r\r]Tdv  yap  MoTpat  dufiov  Oeaav  avdpcoTvoKJLV  — 

"for  an  enduring  heart  have  the  destinies  appointed  to  the 
children  of  men!" 

And  the  more  that  men's  minds  are  cleared,  the  more  that 
the  results  of  science  are  frankly  accepted,  the  rnore  that 
poetry  and  eloquence  come  to  be  re£.eived  and  studied  as 
what  in  truth  they  really  are,  —  the  criticism  of  life  by  gifted 
men,  alive  and  active  with  extraordinary  power  at  an  unusual 
number  of  points;  —  so  much  the  more  will  the  value  of 
humane  letters,  and  of  art  also,  which  is  an  utterance  having 
a  like  kind  of  power  with  theirs,  be  felt  and  acknowledged, 
and  their  place  in  education  be  secured. 

Let  us  therefore,  all  of  us,  avoid  indeed  as  much  as  possible 
any  invidious  comparison  between  the  merits  of  humane 
letters,  as  means  of  education,  and  the  merits  of  the  natural 
sciences.  But  when  some  President  of  a  Section  for  Mechani- 
cal Science  insists  on  making  the  comparison,  and  tells  us 
that  "he  who  in  his  training  has  substituted  literature  and 
history  for  natural  science  has  chosen  the  less  useful  alterna- 


344  MATTHEW  ARNOLD 

tive,"  let  us  make  answer  to  him  that  the  student  of  humane 
letters  only,  will,  at  least,  know  also  the  great  general  con- 
ceptions brought  in  by  modern  physical  science;  for  science, 
as  Professor  Huxley  says,  forces  them  upon  us  all.  But  the 
student  of  the  natural  sciences  only,  will,  by  our  very  hypoth- 
esis, know  nothing  of  humane  letters;  not  to  mention  that 
in  setting  himself  to  be  perpetually  accumulating  natural 
knowledge,  he  sets  himself  to  do  what  only  specialists  have  in 
general  the  gift  for  doing  genially.  And  so  he  will  probably 
be  unsatisfied,  or  at  any  rate  incomplete,  and  even  more 
incomplete  than  the  student  of  humane  letters  only. 

I  once  mentioned  in  a  school  report,  how  a  young  man  in 
one  of  our  English  training  colleges  having  to  paraphrase  the 
passage  in  Macbeth  beginning. 

Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseased? 

turned  this  line  into,  "Can  you  not  wait  upon  the  lunatic?" 
And  I  remarked  what  a  curious  state  of  things  it  would  be, 
if  every  pupil  of  our  national  schools  knew,  let  us  say,  that 
the  moon  is  two  thousand  one  hundred  and  sixty  miles  in 
diameter,  and  thought  at  the  same  time  that  a  good  para- 
phrase for 

Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseased? 

was,  "Can  you  not  wait  upon  the  lunatic?"  If  one  is  driven 
to  choose,  I  think  I  would  rather  have  a  young  person  ignorant 
about  the  moon's  diameter,  but  aware  that  "Can  you  not  wait 
upon  the  lunatic?"  is  bad,  than  a  young  person  whose  educa- 
tion had  been  such  as  to  manage  things  the  other  way. 

Or  to  go  higher  than  the  pupils  of  our  national  schools. 
I  have  in  my  mind's  eye  a  member  of  our  British  Parliament 
who  comes  to  travel  here  in  America,  who  afterwards  relates 
his  travels,  and  who  shows  a  really  masterly  knowledge  of 
the  geology  of  this  great  country  and  of  its  mining  capa- 
bilities, but  who  ends  by  gravely  suggesting  that  the  United 
States  should  borrow  a  prince  from  our  Royal  Family,  and 


LITERATURE  AND  SCIENCE  345 

should  make  him  their  king,  and  should  create  a  House  of 
Lords  of  great  landed  proprietors  after  the  pattern  of  ours; 
and  then  America,  he  thinks,  would  have  her  future  happily 
and  perfectly  secured.  Surely,  in  this  case,  the  President  of 
the  Section  for  Mechanical  Science  would  himself  hardly  say 
that  our  member  of  Parliament,  by  concentrating  himself 
upon  geology  and  mineralogy,  and  so  on,  and  not  attend- 
ing to  literature  and  history,  had  "chosen  the  more  useful 
alternative." 

If  then  there  is  to  be  separation  and  option  between  humane 
letters  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  natural  sciences  on  the 
other,  the  great  majority  of  mankind,  all  who  have  not  ex- 
ceptional and  overpowering  aptitudes  for  the  study  of  nature, 
would  do  well,  I  cannot  but  think,  to  choose  to  be  educated 
in  humane  letters  rather  than  in  the  natural  sciences.  Letters 
will  call  out  their  being  at  more  points,  will  make  them  live 
more. 

I  said  that  before  I  ended  I  would  just  touch  on  the  question 
of  classical  education,  and  I  will  keep  my  word.  Even  if 
literature  is  to  retain  a  large  place  in  our  education,  yet 
Latin  and  Greek,  say  the  friends  of  progress,  will  certainly 
have  to  go.  Greek  is  the  grand  offender  in  the  eyes  of  these 
gentlemen.  The  attackers  of  the  established  course  of  study 
think  that  against  Greek,  at  any  rate,  they  have  irresistible 
arguments.  Literature  may  perhaps  be  needed  in  education, 
they  say;  but  why  on  earth  should  it  be  Greek  literature? 
Why  not  French  or  German?  Nay,  "has  not  an  English- 
man models  in  his  own  literature  of  every  kind  of  excellence?" 
As  before,  it  is  not  on  any  weak  pleadings  of  my  own  that  I 
rely  for  convincing  the  gainsaycrs;  it  is  on  the  constitution 
of  human  nature  itself,  and  on  the  instinct  of  self-preservation 
in  humanity.  The  instinct  for  beauty  is  set  in  human  nature, 
as  surely  as  the  instinct  for  knowledge  is  set  there,  or  the 
instinct  for  conduct.  If  the  instinct  for  beauty  is  served  by 
Greek  literature  and  art  as  it  is  served  by  no  other  literature 


346  MATTHEW  ARNOLD 

and  art,  we  may  trust  to  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  in 
humanity  for  keeping  Greek  as  part  of  our  culture.  We 
may  trust  to  it  for  even  making  the  study  of  Greek  more 
prevalent  than  it  is  now.  Greek  will  come,  I  hope,  some 
day  to  be  studied  more  rationally  than  at  present;  but  it 
will  be  increasingly  studied  as  men  increasingly  feel  the 
need  in  them  for  beauty,  and  how  powerfully  Greek  art  and 
Greek  literature  can  serve  this  need.  Women  will  again 
study  Greek,  as  Lady  Jane  Grey  did;  I  believe  in  that  chain 
of  forts,  with  which  the  fair  host  of  the  Amazons  are  now 
engirdling  our  English  universities ;  I  find  that  here  in 
America,  in  colleges  like  Smith  College  in  Massachusetts, 
and  Vassar  College  in  the  State  of  New  York,  and  in  the 
happy  families  of  the  mixed  universities  out  West,  they  are 
studying  it  already. 

Defuit  una  mihi  symmetria  prisca,  —  "The  antique  sym- 
metry was  the  one  thing  wanting  to  me,"  said  Leonardo  da 
Vinci;  and  he  was  an  Italian.  I  will  not  presume  to  speak 
for  the  Americans  but  I  am  sure  that,  in  the  Englishman, 
the  want  of  this  admirable  symmetry  of  the  Greeks  is  a 
thousand  times  more  great  and  crying  than  in  any  Italian. 
The  results  of  the  want  show  themselves  most  glaringly, 
perhaps,  in  our  architecture,  but  they  show  themselves,  also, 
in  all  our  art.  Fit  details  strictly  combined,  in  view  of  a  large 
general  result  nobly  conceived;  that  is  just  the  beautiful  sym- 
metria prisca  of  the  Greeks,  and  it  is  just  where  we  English 
fail,  where  all  our  art  fails.  Striking  ideas  we  have,  and  well- 
executed  details  we  have;  but  that  high  symmetry  which, 
with  satisfying  and  delightful  effect,  combines  them,  we 
seldom  or  never  have.  The  glorious  beauty  of  the  Acropolis 
at  Athens  did  not  come  from  single  fine  things  stuck  about 
on  that  hill,  a  statue  here,  a  gateway  there;  —  no,  it  arose 
from  all  things  being  perfectly  combined  for  a  supreme  total 
effect.  What  must  not  an  Englishman  feel  about  our  defi- 
ciencies in  this  respect,  as  the  sense  for  beauty,  whereof  this 


LITERATURE  AND   SCIENCE  347 

symmetry  is  an  essential  element,  awakens  and  strengthens 
within  him!  what  will  not  one  day  be  his  respect  and  desire 
for  Greece  and  its  symmetria  prisca,  when  the  scales  drop 
from  his  eyes  as  he  walks  the  London  streets,  and  he  sees 
such  a  lesson  in  meanness  as  the  Strand,  for  instance,  in  its 
true  deformity!  But  here  we  are  coming  to  our  friend  Mr. 
Ruskin's  province,  and  I  will  not  intrude  upon  it,  for  he  is 
its  very  sufficient  guardian. 

And  so  we  at  last  find,  it  seems,  we  find  flowing  in  favor  of 
the  humanities  the  natural  and  necessary  stream  of  things, 
which  seemed  against  them  when  we  started.  The  "hairy 
quadruped  furnished  with  a  tail  and  pointed  ears,  probably 
arboreal  in  his  habits,"  this  good  fellow  carried  hidden  in 
his  nature,  apparently,  something  destined  to  develop  into  a 
necessity  for  humane  letters.  Nay,  more;  we  seem  finally 
to  be  even  led  to  the  further  conclusion  that  our  hairy  ancestor 
carried  in  his  nature,  also,  a  necessity  for  Greek. 

And  therefore,  to  say  the  truth,  I  cannot  really  think  that 
humane  letters  are  in  much  actual  danger  of  being  thrust 
out  from  their  leading  place  in  education,  in  spite  of  the 
array  of  authorities  against  them  at  this  moment.  So  long 
as  human  nature  is  what  it  is,  their  attractions  will  remain 
irresistible.  As  with  Greek,  so  with  letters  generally:  they 
will  some  day  come,  we  may  hope,  to  be  studied  more  ra- 
tionally, but  they  will  not  lose  their  place.  What  will  happen 
will  rather  be  that  there  will  be  crowded  into  education  other 
matters  besides,  far  too  many;  there  will  be,  perhaps,  a  period 
of  unsettlement  and  confusion  and  false  tendency;  but 
letters  will  not  in  the  end  lose  their  leading  place.  If  they 
lose  it  for  a  time,  they  will  get  it  back  again.  We  shall  be 
brought  back  to  them  by  our  wants  and  aspirations.  And  a 
poor  humanist  may  possess  his  soul  in  patience,  neither 
strive  nor  cry,  admit  the  energy  and  brilliancy  of  the  partisans 
of  physical  science,  and  their  present  favor  with  the  public, 
to  be  far  greater  than  his  own,  and  still  have  a  happy  faith 


348  MATTHEW  ARNOLD 

that  the  nature  of  things  works  silently  on  behalf  of  the 
studies  which  he  loves,  and  that,  while  we  shall  all  have  to 
acquaint  ourselves  with  the  great  results  reached  by  modern 
science,  and  to  give  ourselves  as  much  training  in  its  disciplines 
as  we  can  conveniently  carry,  yet  the  majority  of  men  will 
always  require  humane  letters;  and  so  much  the  more,  as 
they  have  the  more  and  the  greater  results  of  science  to 
relate  to  the  need  in  man  for  conduct,  and  to  the  need  in  him 
for  beauty. 


THE   SIGNIFICANCE   OF  THE   FRONTIER  IN 
AMERICAN  HISTORY! 

Frederick  J.  Turner 

In  a  bulletin  of  the  Superintendent  of  the  Census  for  1890 
appear  these  significant  words:  "Up  to  and  including  1880 
the  country  had  a  frontier  of  settlement,  but  at  present  the 
unsettled  area  has  been  so  broken  into  by  isolated  bodies  of 
settlement  that  there  can  hardly  be  said  to  be  a  frontier  line. 
In  the  discussion  of  its  extent,  its  westward  movement,  etc., 
it  cannot,  therefore,  any  longer  have  a  place  in  the  census 
reports."  This  brief  official  statement  marks  the  closing  of 
a  great  historic  movement.  Up  to  our  own  day  American 
history  has  been  in  a  large  degree  the  history  of  the  coloniza- 
tion of  the  West.  The  existence  of  an  area  of  free  land,  its 
continuous  recession,  and  the  advance  of  American  settlement 
westward  explain  American  development. 

Behind  institutions,  behind  constitutional  forms  and 
modificatijons,  lie  the  vital  forces  that  call  these  organs  into 
life  and  shape  them  to  meet  changing  conditions.  The 
peculiarity  of  American  institutions  is  the  fact  that  they  have 
been  compelled  to  adapt  themselves  to  the  changes  of  an 
expanding  people  —  to  the  changes  involved  in  crossing  a 
continent,  in  winning  a  wilderness,  and  in  developing  at 
each  area  of  this  progress  out  of  the  primitive  economic  and 
political  conditions  of  the  frontier  into  the  complexity  of 
city  life.  Said  Calhoun  in  181 7,  "We  are  great,  and  rapidly 
—  I  was  about  to  say  fearfully  —  growing!"     So  saying,  he 

^  Reprinted,  by  courtesy  of  the  author  and  publisher,  from  the  Fifth 
Yearbook  of  the  National  Hcrbarl  Society  (University  of  Chicago  Press, 
1899).  First  edition  printed  in  Report  of  American  Historical  Association 
for  iSgj. 


350  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

touched  the  distinguishing  feature  of  American  life.  All 
people  show  development;  the  germ  theory  of  politics  has 
been  sufficiently  emphasized.  In  the  case  of  most  nations, 
however,  the  development  has  occurred  in  a  limited  area; 
and  if  the  nation  has  expanded,  it  has  met  other  growing 
peoples  whom  it  has  conquered.  But  in  the  case  of  the 
United  States  we  have  a  different  phenomenon.  Limiting 
our  attention  to  the  Atlantic  coast,  we  have  the  familiar 
phenomenon  of  the  evolution  of  institutions  in  a  limited 
area,  such  as  the  rise  of  representative  government;  the 
differentiation  of  simple  colonial  governments  into  complex 
organs;  the  progress  from  primitive  industrial  society,  with- 
out division  of  labor,  up  to  manufacturing  civilization.  But 
we  have  in  addition  to  this  a  recurrence  of  the  process  of 
evolution  in  each  western  area  reached  in  the  process  of 
expansion.  Thus  American  development  has  exhibited  not 
merely  advance  along  a  single  line,  but  a  return  to  primitive 
conditions  on  a  continually  advancing  frontier  line,  and  a 
new  development  for  that  area.  American  social  develop- 
ment has  been  continually  beginning  over  again  on  the  frontier. 
This  perennial  rebirth,  this  fluidity  of  American  life,  this 
expansion  westward  with  its  new  opportunities,  its  continuous 
touch  with  the  simplicity  of  primitive  society,  furnish  the 
forces  dominating  American  character.  The  true  point  of 
view  in  the  history  of  this  nation  is  not  the  Atlantic  coast: 
it  is  the  great  West.  Even  the  slavery  struggle,  which  is 
made  so  exclusive  an  object  of  attention  by  some  historians, 
occupies  its  important  place  in  American  history  because  of 
its  relation  to  westward  expansion. 

In  this  advance,  the  frontier  is  the  outer  edge  of  the  wave, 
—  the  meeting-point  between  savagery  and  civilization. 
Much  has  been  written  about  the  frontier  from  the  point  of 
view  of  border  warfare  and  the  chase,  but  as  a  field  for  the 
serious  study  of  the  economist  and  the  historian  it  has  been 
neglected. 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY     351 

The  American  frontier  is  sharply  distinguished  from  the 
European  frontier,  —  a  fortified  boundary  Hne  running  through 
dense  populations.  The  most  significant  thing  about  the 
American  frontier  is,  that  it  lies  at  the  hither  edge  of  free 
land.  In  the  census  reports  it  is  treated  as  the  margin  of 
that  settlement  which  has  a  density  of  two  or  more  to  the 
square  mile.  The  term  is  an  elastic  one,  and  for  our  purposes 
does  not  need  sharp  definition.  We  shall  consider  the  whole 
frontier  belt,  including  the  Indian  country  and  the  outer 
margin  of  the  "settled  area"  of  the  census  reports.  This 
paper  will  make  no  attempt  to  treat  the  subject  exhaustively; 
its  aim  is  simply  to  call  attention  to  the  frontier  as  a  fertile 
field  for  investigation,  and  to  suggest  some  of  the  problems 
which  arise  in  connection  with  it. 

In  the  settlement  of  America  we  have  to  observe  how 
European  life  entered  the  continent,  and  how  America  modified 
and  developed  that  life  and  reacted  on  Europe.  Our  early 
history  is  the  history  of  European  germs  developing  in  an 
American  environment.  Too  exclusive  attention  has  been 
paid  by  institutional  students  to  the  Germanic  origins,  too 
little  to  the  American  factors.  The  frontier  is  the  line  of 
most  rapid  and  effective  Americanization.  The  wilderness 
masters  the  colonist.  It  finds  him  a  European  in  dress, 
industries,  tools,  modes  of  travel,  and  thought.  It  takes 
him  from  the  railroad  car  and  puts  him  in  the  birch  canoe. 
It  strips  off  the  garments  of  civilization  and  arrays  him  in 
the  hunting  shirt  and  moccasin.  It  puts  him  in  the  log 
cabin  of  the  Cherokee  and  Iroquois  and  runs  an  Indian  palisade 
around  him.  Before  long  he  has  gone  to  planting  Indian 
corn  and  plowing  with  a  sharp  stick;  he  shouts  the  war  cry 
and  takes  the  scalp  in  orthodox  Indian  fashion.  In  short, 
at  the  frontier  the  environment  is  at  first  too  strong  for  the 
man.  He  must  accept  the  conditions  which  it  furnishes,  or 
perish,  and  so  he  fits  himself  into  the  Indian  clearings  and 
follows  the  Indian  trails.     Little  by  little  he  transforms  the 


352  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

wilderness,  but  the  outcome  is  not  the  old  Europe,  not  simply 
the  development  of  Germanic  germs,  any  more  than  the 
first  phenomenon  was  a  case  of  reversion  to  the  Germanic 
mark.  The  fact  is,  that  here  is  a  new„  product  that  is  Ameri- 
can. At  first,  the  frontier  was  the  Atlantic  coast.  It  was 
the  frontier  of  Europe  in  a  very  real  sense.  Moving  west- 
ward, the  frontier  became  more  and  more  American.  As 
successive  terminal  moraines  result  from  successive  glacia- 
tions,  so  each  frontier  leaves  its  traces  behind  it,  and  when  it 
becomes  a  settled  area  the  region  still  partakes  of  the  frontier 
characteristics.  Thus  the  advance  of  the  frontier  has  meant 
a  steady  movement  away  from  the  influence  of  Europe,  a 
steady  growth  of  independence  on  American  lines.  And  to 
study  this  advance,  the  men  who  grew  up  under  these  condi- 
tions, and  the  political,  economic,  and  social  results  of  it,  is 
to  study  the  peculiarly  American  part  of  our  history. 

Let  us  then  grasp  the  conception  of  American  society  steadily 
expanding  into  new  areas.  How  important  it  becomes  to 
watch  the  stages,  the  processes,  and  the  results  of  this  ad- 
vance! The  conception  will  be  found  to  revolutionize  our 
study  of  American  history.  AaX^^^^-*'^'^ 

Stages  of  Frontier  Advance 

In  the  Report  on  Population  of  the  United  States  of  the 
Eleventh  Census,  Part  I,  the  student  will  find  a  series  of 
maps  representing  the  advance  of  population  at  each  census 
period  since  1790.  By  a  consideration  of  these  maps  in 
connection  with  a  relief  map  of  the  United  States,  and  with 
the  Reconnoissance  Map  of  the  United  States  showing  the 
distribution  of  the  geologic  system  (Fourteenth  Annual 
Report  of  the  United  States  Geological  Survey,  plate  ii), 
and  with  the  Contour  Map  of  the  United  States  (in  blue  and 
brown  only,  without  culture  data,  published  by  the  United 
States  Geological  Survey),  it  will  become  plain  that  for  an 
adequate  comprehension  of  the  course  of  American  history, 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY       353 

it  is  necessary  to  study  the  process  by  which  the  advancing 
flood  of  settlement  flowed  into  the  successive  physiographic 
areas.  We  must  observe  also  how  these  areas  affected  the 
life  of  the  emigrants  from  the  older  sections  and  from  Europe. 

When  one  examines  these  census  maps  by  the  side  of  Major 
Powell's  map  showing  the  physiographic  regions  of  the  United 
States/  he  comprehends  the  fact  that  there  are  American 
sections,  neither  defined  by  state  lines,  nor  by  the  old  divisions 
of  New  England,  middle  region,  south,  and  west;  he  perceives 
that,  in  some  respects,  the  map  of  the  United  States  may  be 
likened  to  the  map  of  Europe;  that  the  great  physiographic 
provinces  which  have  been  won  by  civilization  are  economi- 
cally and  socially  comparable  to  nations  of  the  Old  World. 
The  study  of  the  stages  of  frontier  advance  thus  becomes  the 
fascinating  examination  of  the  successive  evolution  of  peculiar 
economic  and  social  countries,  or  provinces,  each  with  its  own 
inheritance,  its  own  contributions,  and  individuality. 

Such  a  study  of  the  moving  frontier  will  show  how,  after 
the  tide-water  section  was  settled  below  the  fall  line  ^  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  a  combined  stream  along  the  Great 
Valley  and  up  the  southern  rivers  that  drain  into  the  Atlantic, 
filled  in  the  Piedmont  region.  This  process  occupied  the 
first  half  of  the  eighteenth  century.  In  the  same  period, 
settlement  was  ascending  the  Connecticut  and  the  Housatonic 
in  New  England,  and  the  Mohawk  in  New  York.  These 
river  valleys,  walled  by  the  mountains  and  enriched  with 
fluvial  soils,  became  the  outlet  for  increasing  population,  and 
they  directed  the  flow  of  settlement.  Thus  two  rival  currents 
of  settlement  were  already  started  by  the  middle  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  New  England's  stream  was  almost 
pure  native  stock.  The  stream  that  followed  the  Great 
Valley  and  occupied  the  Piedmont  was  dominantly  Scotch- 
Irish  and  German. 

^  Physiography  of  the  United  States,  pp.  98-99. 

^  See  Powell,  Physiography  of  the  United  States,  pp.  73-74. 


354  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

In  vain  the  king  attempted  to  check  this  advance  by  his 
proclamation  of  1763,  forbidding  settlements  beyond  the 
sources  of  the  Atlantic  rivers.  Just  before  the  Revolution 
settlement  reached  and  followed  the  "Western  Waters" 
(the  streams  that,  rising  near  the  sources  of  the  Atlantic 
rivers,  cut  their  way  through  the  mountains  to  join  the  Ohio).^ 
The  limestone  soils,  so  welcome  to  the  farmer,  were  influ- 
ential in  determining  this  advance.  The  limestone  belt  that 
floors  the  northern  part  of  the  Great  Valley  in  Pennsylvania, 
Maryland,  and  Virginia,  had  tempted  settlers  along  its  path 
and  into  the  Piedmont.  The  limestone  flooring  of  the  Ten- 
nessee Valley  now  attracted  settlers  to  eastern  Tennessee. 
Thence,  by  Cumberland  Gap,  or  down  the  Ohio  from  the 
north,  the  flood  poured  into  the  limestone  areas  of  Kentucky 
and  Tennessee,  known  as  the  Blue  Grass  lands. 

By  the  close  of  the  Revolution  settlement  in  Kentucky  and 
Tennessee  was  almost  coterminous  with  the  limestone  forma- 
tions, as  may  be  seen  by  comparing  the  map  of  the  census  of 
1790  with  the  map.  showing  the  distribution  of  the  geologic 
system  of  the  United  States.  These  outlying  islands  of 
settlement,  separated  by  wilderness  and  mountains  from  the 
frontier  border  of  the  settled  area  of  the  coast,  had  important 
effects  upon  American  diplomatic,  military,  and  economic 
history.  In  the  Revolutionary  era  the  frontier  communities 
beyond  the  mountains  attempted  to  establish  states  of  their 
own,  on  democratic  lines.^  The  West  as  a  self-conscious 
section  began  to  evolve,*  and  the  struggle  for  the  navigation 

^  On  this  movement  see  Roosevelt,  Winning  of  the  West;  Winsor,  Mis- 
sissippi Basin;  and  Winsor,  Westward  Movement.  See  also  accounts  of 
travelers,  as  cited  in  Report  of  American  Historical  Association  for  iSgj, 
p.  203,  and  in  Channing  and  Hart,  Guide  to  American  History,  pp.  78-86. 

*  See  my  paper  on  Western  State-making  in  the  Revolutionary  Era 
{American  Historical  Review,  I,  70,  251);  Alden,  New  Governments  West; 
of  the  Alleghanies  before  1780  {Bulletin  of  the  University  of  Wisconsin). 

^  Cf.  Atlantic  Monthly,  September,  1896,  Ixxviii,  289. 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY       355 

of  the  Mississippi  accented  this  western  individualism,  and 
made  doubtful  the  unity  of  America. 

By  diplomacy,  and  by  Indian  wars  and  cessions,  gradually 
the  way  was  opened  for  the  spread  of  settlement  into  western 
New  York,  and  into  the  country  north  of  the  Ohio.  New 
England's  Connecticut  Valley  and  Housatonic  Valley  settlers, 
overflowing  their  confines,  poured  into  central  and  western 
New  York  between  1788  and  1820,  and  New  England  also 
began  to  settle  in  Ohio.  The  Middle  States  and  the  South 
sent  their  current  of  settlement  into  the  southern  part  of  the 
Northwest/  while  settlement  followed  the  victories  of  Andrew 
Jackson  into  the  Southwest  after  the  War  of  181 2. 

By  the  census  of  1820  the  settled  area  included  Ohio,  south- 
ern Indiana  and  Illinois,  southeastern  Missouri,  and  about 
one  half  of  Louisiana.  This  settled  area  had  surrounded 
Indian  areas,  and  the  management  of  these  tribes  became  an 
object  of  political  concern.  The  frontier  region  of  the  time 
lay  along  the  Great  Lakes,  where  Astor's  American  Fur 
Company  operated  in  the  Indian  trade,-  and  beyond  the 
Mississippi,  where  Indian  traders  extended  their  activity 
even  to  the  Rocky  Mountains;  Florida  also  furnished  frontier 
conditions.  The  Mississippi  River  region  was  the  scene  of 
typical  frontier  settlements.^     The  era  of  internal  improve- 

^  Atlantic  Monthly,  April,  1897,  Ixxix,  433  et  seq.;  Roosevelt,  Winning  of 
the  West,  vol.  iv;  Thorpe,  Constitutional  History  of  the  People  of  the  United 
States;   Dwight,  Travels  (1796-1815)  [New  Haven,  1821]. 

*  Turner,  Character  and  Influence  of  the  Indian  Trade  in  Wisconsin 
{Johns  Hopkins  University  Studies,  Series  ix),  pp.  61  ff. 

^  Monette,  History  of  the  Mississippi  Valley,  vol.  ii;  Flint,  Travels  and 
Residence  in  Mississippi;  Flint,  Geography  and  History  of  the  Western  States; 
Abridgment  of  Debates  of  Congress,  vii,  397,  398,  404;  Holmes,  Accoimt  of 
the  United  States;  Kingdom,  America  and  the  British  Colonies  [London, 
i82o3;  Grand,  Americans,  II,  i,  iii,  vi  (although  writing  in  1836,  he  treats 
of  conditions  that  grew  out  of  western  advance  from  the  era  of  1820  to 
tjiat  time);  Peck,  Guide  for  Emigrants  [yio?,ton,  1831];  Daxhy ,  Emigrants^ 
Guide  to  Western  and  Soullnvestern  States  and  Territories;  Dana,  Geographi- 
cal Slietches  in  the  Western  Country;    Kinzie,  Waubun;  Keating,  Narrative 


356  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

ments  and  protective  tariffs  under  the  home-market  idea 
opened.  Its  explanation  is  to  be  sought  in  the  distribution 
of  settlement. 

The  rising  steam  navigation  ^  on  western  waters,  the  open- 
ing of  the  Erie  Canal,  and  the  westward  extension  of  cotton  ^ 
culture  added  five  frontier  states  to  the  Union  in  this  period. 
Grund,  writing  in  1836,  declares:  "It  appears  then  that  the 
universal  disposition  of  Americans  to  emigrate  to  the  western 
wilderness,  in  order  to  enlarge  their  dominion  over  inanimate 
nature,  is  the  actual  result  of  an  expansive  power  which  is 
inherent  in  them,  and  which  by  continually  agitating  all 
classes  of  society  is  constantly  throwing  a  large  portion  of 
the  whole  population  on  the  extreme  confines  of  the  state,  in 
order  to  gain  space  for  its  development.  Hardly  is  a  new 
state  or  territory  formed  before  the  same  principle  manifests 
itself  again  and  gives  rise  to  a  further  emigration;  and  so  it 
is  destined  to  go  on  until  a  physical  barrier  must  finally 
obstruct  its  progress."  ^ 

It  was  in  the  period  between  1820  and  1850  that  the  forces 
were  at  work  which  differentiated  the  northwestern  frontier 
and  the  southwestern  frontier.  In  the  Southwest  the  spread 
of  cotton  culture  transformed  the  pioneer  farmer  into  the 
great  planter  and  slaveholder.  In  the  Northwest,  the  New 
England  and  Middle  State  stream,  followed  by  German 
immigration,  took  possession  of  the  Great  Lake  basin,  and 
the  pioneer  farmer  type  was  continued.  This  section  was 
united  to  New  York  by  the  Erie  Canal  and  by  the  later  rail- 

of  Long^s  Expedition;  Schoolcraft,  Discovery  of  the  Sources  of  the  Mississippi 
River,  Travels  in  the  Central  Portions  of  the  Mississippi  Valley,  and  Lead 
Mines  of  the  Missouri;  Hurlbut,  Chicago  Antiquities;  McKenney,  Tour  to 
the  Lakes;  Thomas,  Travels  through  the  Western  Country,  etc.  [^Auburn, 
N.  Y.,  1819].     Cf.  Turner,  Rise  of  New  West,  vols,  v-viii  pSTew  York,  1906]. 

^  Darby,  Emigrants'  Guide,  pp.  272  ff.;  Benton,  Abridgment  of  Debates, 
vii,  397. 

^  Turner,  Rise  of  New  West,  chap.  iv. 

^  Grund,  Americans,  ii,  8. 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY       357 

roads.  New  Orleans  ceased  to  be  the  outlet  of  the  North- 
west. Thus  the  physiographic  province  included  in  the 
glaciated  area  embracing  the  Great  Lake  basin  and  New 
England  plateau  was  brought,  by  the  flow  of  frontier  settle- 
ment, into  economic,  political,  and  social  unity.  In  the  same 
period  the  physiographic  province  of  the  Gulf  plains  was 
settled  and  unified  by  extensions  of  the  coastal  south,  under 
the  temptations  of  the  cotton  lands.  The  struggle  for  Texas 
and  the  Mexican  War  were  later  sequences  of  this  movement. 

Prior  to  this,  the  Mississippi  valley  had  possessed  a  con- 
siderable degree  of  social  and  political  homogeneity.  By  the 
processes  just  mentioned,  however,  the  sectional  division  of 
North  and  South  was  carried  beyond  the  Alleghenies,  and  the 
western  spirit  gave  to  the  political  and  economic  antagonisms 
between  the  old  North  and  South  sections  a  new  rancor  and 
aggressiveness.  Both  were  regions  of  action,  and  they  fur- 
nished the  radical  leaders  for  their  respective  sections  in  the 
struggle  that  followed. 

In  the  middle  of  this  century  the  line  indicated  by  the 
present  eastern  boundary  of  Indian  Territory,  Nebraska,  and 
Kansas  marked  the  frontier  of  the  Indian  country.^  Minne- 
sota and  Wisconsin  still  exhibited  frontier  conditions,^  but 

1  Peck,  New  Guide  to  the  West,  chap,  iv  [Cincinnati,  1848];  Parkman, 
Oregon  Trail;  Hall,  The  West  [Cincinnati,  1848];  Pierce,  Incidents  of  Western 
Travel;  Murray,  Travels  in  North  America;  Lloyd,  Steamboat  Directory 
[Cincinnati,  1856];  "Forty  Days  in  a  Western  Hotel"  (Chicago),  in  Put- 
nam's Magazine,  December,  1894;  Mackay,  The  Western  World,  II,  ii,  iii; 
Meeker,  Life  in  the  West;  Bogen,  Germans  in  America  [Boston,  i8si3; 
Olmstead,  Texas  Journey;  Greeley,  Recollections  of  a  Busy  Life;  Schouler, 
History  of  the  United  Stales,  v,  261-267;  Peyton,  Over  the  Alleghenies  and 
Across  the  Prairies  [London,  1870];  Peyton,  Suggestions  on  Railroad  Com- 
munication with  the  Pacific  and  the  Trade  of  China  atid  the  Indian  Islands; 
Benton,  Highway  to  the  Pacific  (a  speech  in  the  United  States  Senate, 
December  16,  1850).     Cf.  Chittenden,  American  Fur  Trade. 

*  A  writer  in  the  Home  Missionary  [1850],  p.  239,  reporting  Wisconsin 
conditions,  exclaims:  "Think  of  this,  people  of  the  enlightened  East! 
What  an  example,  to  come  from  the  very  frontiers  of  civilization!"    But 


358  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

the  distinctive  frontier  of  the  period  is  found  in  California, 
where  the  gold  discoveries  had  sent  a  sudden  tide  of  adven- 
turous miners,  in  Oregon,  and  in  the  settlements  in  Utah.^ 
As  the  frontier  had  leaped  over  the  Alleghenies,  so  now  it 
skipped  the  Great  Plains  and  the  Rocky  Mountains;  and  in 
the  same  way  that  the  advance  of  the  frontiersman  beyond 
the  Alleghenies  had  caused  the  rise  of  important  questions  of 
transportation  and  internal  improvement,  so  now  the  settlers 
beyond  the  Rocky  Mountains  needed  means  of  communica- 
tion with  the  East,  and  in  the  furnishing  of  these  arose  the 
settlement  of  the  Great  Plains  and  the  development  of  still 
another  kind  of  frontier  life.  Railroads,  fostered  by  land 
grants,  sent  an  increasing  tide  of  immigrants  into  the  Far 
West.  The  United  States  army  ^  fought  a  series  of  Indian 
wars  in  Minnesota,  Dakota,  and  the  Indian  Territory;  cessions 
made  way  for  settlement. 

By  1880  the  settled  area  had  been  pushed  into  northern 
Michigan,  Wisconsin,  and  Minnesota,  along  Dakota  rivers, 
and  in  the  Black  Hills  region,  and  was  ascending  the  rivers  of 
Kansas  and  Nebraska.^  The  development  of  mines  in  Col- 
orado had  drawn  isolated  frontier  settlements  into  that 
region,  and  Montana  and  Idaho  were  receiving  settlers.  The 
frontier  was  found  in  these  mining  camps  and  the  ranches  of 
the  Great  Plains.  The  superintendent  of  the  census  for  1890 
reports,  as  previously  stated,  that  the  settlements  of  the 
West  lie  so  scattered  over  the  region  that  there  can  no  longer 
be  said  to  be  a  frontier  line 

one  of  the  missionaries  writes:  "In  a  few  years  Wisconsin  will  no  longer 
be  considered  as  the  West,  or  as  an  outpost  of  civilization,  any  more  than 
western  New  York,  or  the  Western  Reserve." 

1  Bancroft  (H.  H.),  History  of  the  Pacific  States;  and  Popular  Tribunals; 
Hittell,  California;  Shinn,  "Mining  Camps";  Shinn,  "Story  of  the  Mine": 
Century  Magazine,  1890,  1891. 

^  Rodenbough  and  Haskin,  Army  of  the  United  Stales. 

^  See  Atlantic  Monthly,  Ixxix,  440. 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY      359 

It  will  be  noted  that  the  frontier  boundaries  are  physio- 
graphically  significant.  The  fall  line  marked  the  seventeenth- 
century  frontier;  the  Allegheny  Mountains,  that  of  the  middle 
of  the  eighteenth  century;  the  Mississippi,  that  of  the  last 
decade  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and,  in  part,  that  of  the 
first  quarter  of  the  present  century.  Settlement  which  had 
crept  up  the  Missouri,  the  Platte,  etc.,  by  the  middle  of  the 
nineteenth  century  stayed  while  the  rush  of  gold  seekers 
made  a  new  frontier  on  the  Pacific  coast  and  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  The  boundary  of  the  arid  region  (roughly  the 
hundredth  meridian)  marks  the  most  recent  frontier.  The 
conquest  of  the  arid  West  will  be  by  different  processes  than 
that  of  the  other  areas  of  western  advance,  and  a  different 
social  type  may  be  looked  for  in  the  region. 

Each  great  western  advance,  thus  outlined,  has  been 
accompanied  by  a  diplomatic  or  military  struggle  against 
rival  nations,  and  by  a  series  of  Indian  wars  and  cessions. 

The  Frontier  furnishes  a  Field  for  Comparative  Study  of  Social 
Development 

At  the  Atlantic  frontier  one  can  study  the  germs  of  pro- 
cesses repeated  at  each  successive  frontier.  We  have  the  com- 
plex European  life  sharply  precipitated  by  the  wilderness  into 
the  simplicity  of  primitive  conditions.  The  first  frontier  had 
to  meet  its  Indian  question,  its  question  of  the  disposition  of 
the  public  domain,  of  the  means  of  intercourse  with  older 
settlements,  of  the  extension  of  political  organization,  of 
religious  and  educational  activity.  And  the  settlement  of 
these  and  similar  questions  for  one  frontier  served  as  a  guide 
for  the  next.  The  American  student  needs  not  to  go  to  the 
"prim  little  townships  of  Sleswick"  for  illustrations  of  the  law 
of  continuity  and  development.  For  example,  he  may  study 
the  origin  of  our  land  policies  in  the  colonial  land  policy;  he 
may  see  how  the  system  grew  by  adapting  the  statutes  to  the 


36o  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

customs  of  the  successive  frontiers.^  He  may  see  how  the 
mining  experience  in  the  lead  regions  of  Wisconsin,  Illinois, 
and  Iowa  was  applied  to  the  mining  laws  of  the  Rockies,^ 
and  how  our  Indian  policy  has  been  a  series  of  experimenta- 
tions on  successive  frontiers.  Each  tier  of  new  states  has 
found  in  the  older  ones  material  for  its  constitution.^  Each 
frontier  has  made  similar  contributions  to  American  char- 
acter, as  will  be  discussed  farther  on. 

But  with  all  these  similarities  there  are  essential  differences, 
due  to  the  place  element  and  the  time  element.  It  is  evident 
that  the  farming  frontier  of  the  Mississippi  Valley  presents 
different  conditions  from  the  mining  frontier  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  The  frontier  reached  by  the  Pacific  railroad, 
surveyed  into  rectangles,  guarded  by  the  United  States  army, 
and  recruited  by  the  daily  immigrant  ship,  moves  forward 
in  a  different  way  and  at  a  swifter  pace  than  the  frontier 
reached  by  the  birch  canoe  or  the  pack  horse.  The  geologist 
traces  patiently  the  shores  of  ancient  seas,  maps  their  areas, 
and  compares  the  older  and  the  newer.  It  would  be  a  work 
worth  the  historian's  labors  to  mark  these  various  frontiers, 
and  in  detail  compare  one  with  another.  Not  only  would  there 
result  a  more  adequate  conception  of  American  development 
and  characteristics,  but  invaluable  additions  would  be  made 
to  the  history  of  society. 

Loria,^  the  Italian  economist,  has  urged  the  study  of  colonial 
life  as  an  aid  in  understanding  the  stages  of  European  devel- 
opment, affirming  that  colonial  settlement  is  for  economic 
science  what  the  mountain  is  for  geology,  bringing  to  light 
primitive  stratifications.     ''America,"  he  says,  "has  the  key 

*  See  the  suggestive  paper  by  Professor  Jesse  Macy,  "The  Institutional 
Beginnings  of  a  Western  State." 

^  Shinn,  "Mining  Camps." 

'  Cf.  Thorpe,  in  Annals  of  American  Academy  of  Political  and  Social 
Science,  September,  1891;    Bryce,  American  Commonwealth  [1888],  ii,  689. 

*  Loria,  Analisi  delta  Proprietd  Capitalista,  ii,  15. 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY      361 

to  the  historical  enigma  which  Europe  has  sought  for  centuries 
in  vain,  and  the  land  which  has  no  history  reveals  luminously 
the  course  of  universal  history."  There  is  much  truth  in  this. 
The  United  States  lies  like  a  huge  page  in  the  history  of 
society.  Line  by  line,  as  we  read  this  continental  page  from 
west  to  east,  we  find  the  record  of  social  evolution.  It  begins 
with  the  Indian  and  the  hunter;  it  goes  on  to  tell  of  the 
disintegration  of  savagery  by  the  entrance  of  the  trader,  the 
pathfinder  of  civilization;  we  read  the  annals  of  the  pastoral 
stage  in  ranch  life;  the  exploitation  of  the  soil  by  the  raising 
of  unrotated  crops  of  corn  and  wheat  in  sparsely  settled 
farming  communities;  the  intensive  culture  of  the  denser 
farm  settlement;  and  finally,  the  manufacturing  organization 
with  city  and  factory  system.^  This  page  is  familiar  to  the 
student  of  census  statistics,  but  how  little  of  it  has  been  used 
by  our  historians.  Particularly  in  eastern  states  this  page  is 
a  palimpsest.  What  is  now  a  manufacturing  state  was  in  an 
earlier  decade  an  area  of  intensive  farming.  Earlier  yet  it 
had  been  a  wheat  area,  and  still  earlier  the  "range"  had 
attracted  the  cattle  herder.  Thus  Wisconsin,  now  developing 
manufacture,  is  a  state  with  varied  agricultural  interests. 
But  earlier  it  was  given  over  to  almost  exclusive  grain  rais- 
ing, like  North  Dakota  at  the  present  time. 

Each  of  these  areas  has  had  an  influence  in  our  economic 
and  political  history;  the  evolution  of  each  into  a  different 
industrial  stage  has  worked  political  transformations.^  Wis- 
consin, to  take  an  illustration,  in  the  days  when  it  lacked 
varied  agriculture  and  complex  industrial  life,  was  a  strong- 
hold of  the  granger  and  greenback  movements;    but  it  has 

1  Cf.  Observations  on  the  N.  A.  Land  Company,  pp.  15,  144  [London, 
1796];  Logan,  History  of  Upper  S.  C,  i,  149-151;  Turner,  Indian  Trade  in 
Wisconsin,  p.  i8;  Peck,  New  Guide  for  Emigrants,  chap,  iv  [Boston,  1837]; 
Compendium,  Eleventh  Census,  xl. 

2  Turner,  Introduction  to  Libby's  Ratification  of  the  American  Con- 
stitution \_Bull.  of  Univ.  of  Wis.,  Econ.,  Pol.  Sci.,  and  Ilist.  Series,  vol.  ij. 


362  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

undergone  an  industrial  transformation,  and  in  the  presi- 
dential contest  of  1896  Mr.  Bryan  carried  but  three  counties 
in  the  state.  Again  consider  the  history  of  Calhoun.  His 
father  came  with  the  tide  of  Scotch-Irish  pioneers  that  built 
their  log  cabins  in  the  Piedmont  region  of  the  Carolinas. 
The  young  manhood  of  Calhoun  was  thoroughly  western  in 
its  nationalistic  and  loose-construction  characteristics.  But 
the  extension  of  cotton  culture  to  the  Piedmont,  following 
the  industrial  revolution  in  England,  superseded  the  pioneer 
by  the  slave-holding  planter.  Calhoun's  ideas  changed  with 
his  section,  until  he  became  the  chief  prophet  of  southern 
sectionalism  and  slavery.^ 

Among  isolated  coves  in  the  Appalachian  Mountains,  and 
in  other  out-of-the-way  places,  the  frontier  has  survived,  like 
a  fossil,  in  a  more  recent  social  formation.  The  primitive 
economic  conditions  of  these  mountains  of  Tennessee,  or  of 
Georgia,  for  instance,  enable  us  to  comprehend  some  of  the 
characteristics  of  the  frontier  of  earlier  days.  In  the  American 
Journal  of  Sociology  for  July,  1898,  under  the  title  "A  Re- 
tarded Frontier,"  Professor  Vincent  has  described  such  a 
community. 

The  Atlantic  frontier  was  compounded  of  fisherman,  fur 
trader,  miner,  cattle  raiser,  and  farmer.  Excepting  the 
fisherman,  each  type  of  industry  was  on  the  march  toward 
the  west,  drawn  by  an  irresistible  attraction.  Each  passed 
in  successive  waves  across  the  continent.  Stand  at  Cumber- 
land Gap  and  watch  the  procession  of  civilization,  marching 
single  file  —  the  buffalo  following  the  trail  to  the  salt  springs, 
the  Indian,  the  fur  trader  and  hunter,  the  cattle  raiser,  the 
pioneer  farmer  —  and  the  frontier  has  passed  by.  Stand  at 
South  Pass  in  the  Rockies  a  century  later  and  see  the  same 
procession  with  wider  intervals  between.  The  unequal  rate 
of  advance  compels  us  to  distinguish  the  frontier  into  the 

1  Turner,  Rise  of  New  West,  for  other  illustrations,  and  cf.  Atlantic 
Monthly,  April,  1897,  Lxxix,  441-4.43. 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY      363 

trader's  frontier,  the  rancher's  frontier,  or  the  miner's  frontier, 
and  the  farmer's  frontier.  When  the  mines  and  the  cow 
pens  were  still  near  the  fall  line  the  trader's  pack  trains  were 
tinkling  across  the  Alleghenies,  and  the  French  on  the  Great 
Lakes  were  fortifying  their  posts,  alarmed  by  the  British 
trader's  birch  canoe.  When  the  trappers  scaled  the  Rockies 
the  farmer  was  still  near  the  mouth  of  the  Missouri. 

y  The  Indian  Trader'' s  Frontier 

Why  was  it  that  the  Indian  trader  passed  so  rapidly  across 
the  continent?  What  effects  followed  from  the  trader's 
frontier?  The  trade  was  coeval  with  American  discovery. 
The  Norsemen,  Vespucius,  Verrazani,  Hudson,  John  Smith, 
all  trafficked  for  furs.  The  Plymouth  pilgrims  settled  in 
Indian  cornfields,  and  their  first  return  cargo  was  of  beaver 
and  lumber.  The  records  of  the  various  New  England 
colonies  show  how  steadily  exploration  was  carried  into  the 
wilderness  by  this  trade.  What  is  true  for  New  England  is,  as 
would  be  expected,  even  plainer  for  the  rest  of  the  colonies. 
All  along  the  coast  from  Maine  to  Georgia  the  Indian  trade 
opened  up  the  river  courses.  Steadily  the  trader  passed 
westward,  utilizing  the  older  lines  of  French  trade.  The 
Ohio,  the  Great  Lakes,  the  Mississippi,  the  Missouri,  and  the 
Platte,  the  lines  of  western  advance,  were  ascended  by  traders. 
They  found  the  passes  in  the  Rocky  Mountains  and  guided 
Lewis  and  Clark, ^  Fremont,  and  Bidwell.  The  explanation 
of  the  rapidity  of  this  advance  is  connected  with  the  effects 
of  the  trader  on  the  Indian.  The  trading  post  left  the  un- 
armed tribes  at  the  mercy  of  those  that  had  purchased  fire- 
arms, —  a  truth  which  the  Iroquois  Indians  wrote  in  blood, 
and  so  the  remote  and  unvisited  tribes  gave  eager  welcome 
to  the  trader.  "The  savages,"  wrote  La  Salle,  "take  better 
care  of  us  French  than  of  their  own  children;    from  us  only 

1  But  Lewis  and  Clark  were  the  first  to  explore  the  route  from  the  Mis- 
souri to  the  Columbia. 


364  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

can  they  get  guns  and  goods."  This  accounts  for  the  trader's 
power  and  the  rapidity  of  his  advance.  Thus  the  disinte- 
grating forces  of  civihzation  entered  the  wilderness.  Every 
river  valley  and  Indian  trail  became  a  fissure  in  Indian  society, 
and  so  that  society  became  honeycombed.  Long  before  the 
pioneer  farmer  appeared  on  the  scene,  primitive  Indian  life 
had  passed  away.  The  farmers  met  Indians  armed  with 
guns.  The  trading  frontier,  while  steadily  undermining 
Indian  power  by  making  the  tribes  ultimately  dependent  on 
the  whites,  yet,  through  its  sale  of  guns,  gave  to  the  Indians 
increased  power  of  resistance  to  the  farming  frontier.  French 
colonization  was  dominated  by  its  trading  frontier,  English 
colonization  by  its  farming  frontier.  There  was  an  antago- 
nism between  the  two  frontiers  as  between  the  two  nations. 
Said  Duquesne  to  the  Iroquois:  "Are  you  ignorant  of  the 
difference  between  the  king  of  England  and  the  king  of  France? 
Go  see  the  forts  that  our  king  has  established  and  you  will 
see  that  you  can  still  hunt  under  their  very  walls.  They 
have  been  placed  for  your  advantage  in  places  which  you 
frequent.  The  English,  on  the  contrary,  are  no  sooner  in 
possession  of  a  place  than  the  game  is  driven  away.  The 
forest  falls  before  them  as  they  advance,  and  the  soil  is  laid 
bare  so  that  you  can  scarce  find  the  wherewithal  to  erect  a 
shelter  for  the  night." 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  this  opposition  of  the  interests  of  the 
trader  and  the  farmer,  the  Indian  trade  pioneered  the  way  for 
civilization.  The  buffalo  trail  became  the  Indian  trail,  and 
this  became  the  trader's  "trace";  the  trails  widened  into 
roads,  and  the  roads  into  turnpikes,  and  these  in  turn  were 
transformed  into  railroads.  The  same  origin  can  be  shown 
for  important  railroads  of  the  South,  the  Far  West,  and  the 
Dominion  of  Canada.^     The  trading  posts  reached  by  these 

^  The  later  railroads  frequently  deviated  in  important  respects  from  the 
exact  line  of  the  old  trails;  but  the  statement  is  true  in  general.  See  Narra- 
tive and  Critical  History  of  America,  viii,  10;    Sparks,  Washington's  Works, 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY       365 

trails  were  on  the  sites  of  Indian  villages  which  had  been 
placed  in  positions  suggested  by  nature;  and  these  trading 
posts,  situated  so  as  to  command  the  water  systems  of  the 
country,  have  grown  into  such  cities  as  Albany,  Pittsburg, 
Detroit,  Chicago,  St.  Louis,  Council  Bluffs,  and  Kansas  City. 
Thus  civilization  in  America  has  followed  the  arteries  made 
by  geology,  pouring  an  ever  richer  tide  through  them,  until  at 
last  the  slender  paths  of  aboriginal  intercourse  have  been 
broadened  and  interwoven  into  the  complex  mazes  of  modern 
commercial  lines;  the  wilderness  has  been  interpenetrated  by 
lines  of  civilization  growing  ever  more  numerous.  It  is  like 
the  steady  growth  of  a  complex  nervous  system  for  the 
originally  simple,  inert  continent.  If  one  would  understand 
why  we  are  to-day  one  nation  rather  than  a  collection  of 
isolated  states,  he  must  study  this  economic  and  social  con- 
solidation of  the  country.  In  this  progress  from  savage 
conditions  lie  topics  for  the  evolutionist.^ 

The  effect  of  the  Indian  frontier  as  a  consolidating  agent  in 
our  history  is  important.  From  the  close  of  the  seventeenth 
century  various  intercolonial  congresses  have  been  called  to 
treat  with  Indians  and  establish  common  measures  of  defense. 
Particularism  was  strongest  in  colonies  with  no  Indian  frontier. 
This  frontier  stretched  along  the  western  border  like  a  cord 
of  union.  The  Indian  was  a  common  danger,  demanding 
united  action.  Most  celebrated  of  these  conferences  was  the 
Albany  congress  of  1754,  called  to  treat  with  the  Six  Nations, 
and  to  consider  plans  of  union.  Even  a  cursory  reading  of 
the  plan  proposed  by  the  congress  reveals  the  importance  of 
the  frontier.  The  powers  of  the  general  council  and  the  officers 
were,  chiefly,  the  determination  of  peace  and  war  with  the 
Indians,    the   regulation    of   Indian    trade,    the   purchase   of 

ix,  303,  327;  Logan,  History  of  Upper  South  Carolina,  vol.  i;  McDonald, 
Life  of  Kenton,  p.  72. 

1  On  the  effect  of  the  fur  trade  in  opening  the  routes  of  migration,  see  the 
author's  Character  and  Influence  of  the  I)ulian  Trade  in  Wisconsin. 


366  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

Indian  lands,  and  the  creation  and  government  of  new  settle- 
ments as  a  security  against  the  Indians.  It  is  evident  that 
the  unifying  tendencies  of  the  Revolutionary  period  were 
facilitated  by  the  previous  cooperation  in  the  regulation  of 
the  frontier.  In  this  connection  may  be  mentioned  the 
importance  of  the  Indian  frontier  in  the  modification  of 
western  institutions  and  character,  and  particularly,  as  a 
military  training  school,  keeping  alive  the  power  of  resistance 
to  aggression,  and  developing  the  stalwart  and  rugged  qualities 
of  the  frontiersman.  If  the  reader  will  compare  the  names  of 
the  officers  whose  exploits  at  Santiago  and  at  Manila  are 
now  in  everybody's  mouth,  with  the  names  of  the  officers  in 
the  Indian  fighting  of  the  United  States,  he  will  understand 
better  the  importance  of  this  aspect  of  the  frontier.^ 

The  Rancher's  Frontier 

It  would  not  be  possible  in  the  limits  of  this  paper  to  trace 
the  other  frontiers  across  the  continent.  At  the  close  of  the 
seventeenth  century  in  Virginia  we  find  vast  droves  of  wild 
horses  and  cattle,  with  typical  ranch  life  and  customs.  Similar 
conditions  existed  in  other  parts  of  the  coast  area.^  Travelers 
of  the  eighteenth  century  found  the  "cow  pens"  among  the 
canebrakes  and  pea- vine  pastures  of  the  South,  and  the  "cow 
drivers"  took  their  droves  to  Charleston,  Philadelphia,  and 
New  York.^  Travelers  at  the  close  of  the  War  of  1812  met 
droves  of  more  than  a  thousand  cattle  and  swine  from  the 
interior  of  Ohio  going  to  Pennsylvania  to  fatten  for  the  Phila- 

1  Colonel  Leonard  Wood,  for  example,  in  the  Geronimo  campaign  under 
Lawton  in  1886,  added  to  his  duties  as  surgeon  the  command  of  the  in- 
fantry. Cf.  Century  Magazine,  July,  1891,  p.  369,  and  Scribner's  Magazine, 
January,  1899,  pp.  3-20. 

^  Cf.  Bruce,  Economic  History  of  Virginia  in  the  Seventeenth  Century,  i, 
473-477,  540;  Weeden,  Economic  and  Social  History  of  New  England,  i, 
100,  128;   Doyle,  Puritan  Colonies,  ii,  19-23,  46-47. 

^  Lodge,  English  Colonies,  p.  152  and  citations;  Logan,  History  of  Upper 
South  Carolina,  i,  151. 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY      367 

delphia  market.^  The  ranges  of  the  Great  Plains,  with  ranch 
and  cowboy  and  nomadic  life,  are  things  of  yesterday  and  of 
to-day.^  The  experience  of  the  Carolina  cow  pens  guided  the 
ranchers  of  Texas.  One  element  favoring  the  rapid  extension 
of  the  rancher's  frontier  is  the  fact  that  in  a  remote  country 
lacking  transportation  facilities  the  product  must  be  in  small 
bulk,  or  must  be  able  to  transport  itself,  and  the  cattle  raiser 
could  easily  drive  his  product  to  market.  The  effect  of  these 
great  ranches  on  the  subsequent  agrarian  history  of  the  locali- 
ties in  which  they  existed  should  be  studied. 

The  Farmer's  Frontier 

The  maps  of  the  census  reports  show  an  uneven  advance 
of  the  farmer's  frontier,  with  tongues  of  settlement  pushed 
forward  and  with  indentations  of  wilderness.  In  part  this 
is  due  to  Indian  resistance,  in  part  to  the  location  of  river 
valleys  and  passes,  in  part  to  the  unequal  force  of  the  centers 
of  frontier  attraction.  Among  the  important  centers  of 
attraction  may  be  mentioned  the  following:  fertile  and  favor-, 
ably  situated  soils,  salt  springs,  mines,  and  army  posts,     ^ 

Army  Posts 

The  frontier  army  post,  serving  to  protect  the  settlers  from 
the  Indians,  has  also  acted  as  a  wedge  to  open  the  Indian 
country,  and  has  been  a  nucleus  for  settlement.^  In  this 
connection  mention  should  also  be  made  of  the  government 
military  and  exploring  expeditions  in  determining  the  lines 
of  settlement.  But  all  the  more  important  expeditions  were 
greatly  indebted    to    the    earliest    pathmakers,  the  Indian 

^  Flint,  Recollections,  p.  9. 

^  See  Wister,  "Evolution  of  the  Cow  Puncher,"  in  Harper's  Magazine, 
September,  1895;  Hough,  Story  of  the  Cow  Boy;  Roosevelt,  Ranch  Life  and 
the  Hunting  Trail. 

'  Cf.  Hening's  Statutes,  ii,  433,  448;  iii,  204;  Benton's  View,  i,  102;  ii, 
70,  167;   Monette,  Mississippi  Valley,  i,  344. 


368  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

guides,  the  traders  and  trappers,  and  the  French  voyageurs, 
who  were  inevitable  parts  of  governmental  expeditions  from 
the  days  of  Lewis  and  Clark.  Each  expedition  was  an  epitome 
of  the  previous  factors  in  western  advance. 

Salt  Springs 

In  an  interesting  monograph,  Victor  Hehn  ^  has  traced  the 
effect  of  salt  upon  early  European  development,  and  has 
pointed  out  how  it  affected  the  lines  of  settlement  and  the 
form  of  administration.  A  similar  study  might  be  made  for 
the  salt  springs  of  the  United  States.  The  early  settlers  were 
tied  to  the  coast  by  the  need  of  salt,  without  which  they  could 
not  preserve  their  meats  or  live  in  comfort.  Writing  in  1752, 
Bishop  Spangenburg  says  of  a  colony  for  which  he  was  seeking 
lands  in  North  Carolina:  "They  will  require  salt  &  other 
necessaries  which  they  can  neither  manufacture  nor  raise. 
Either  they  must  go  to  Charleston,  which  is  300  miles  distant. 
...  Or  else  they  must  go  to  Boling's  Point  in  V*  on  a 
branch  of  the  James  &  is  also  300  miles  from  here  ...  Or 
else  they  must  go  down  the  Roanoke  —  I  know  not  how  many 
miles  —  where  salt  is  brought  up  from  the  Cape  Fear."  ^ 
This  may  serve  as  a  typical  illustration.  An  annual  pilgrim- 
age to  the  coast  for  salt  thus  became  essential.  Taking  flocks 
or  furs  and  ginseng  root,  the  early  settlers  sent  their  pack 
trains  after  seeding  time  each  year  to  the  coast.^  This  proved 
to  be  an  important  educational  influence,  since  it  was  almost 
the  only  way  in  which  the  pioneer  learned  what  was  going 
on  in  the  East.  But  when  discovery  was  made  of  the  salt 
springs  of  the  Kanawha,  and  the  Holston,  and  Kentucky,* 

^  Hehn,  Das  Sah  p3erlin,  18733. 

^  Colonial  Records  of  North  Carolina,  v,  3. 

^  Findley,  History  of  the  Insurrection  in  the  Four  Western  Counties  of 
Pennsylvania  in  the  Year  1794,  p.  35  [Philadelphia,  1796]. 

*  See  also  McGee's  paper  on  potable  springs,  as  affecting  settlement,  in 
the  Fourteenth  Annual  Report  of  the  United  States  Geological  Survey,  Part  ii, 
p.  9. 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY       369 

and  central  New  York,  the  West  began  to  be  freed  from 
dependence  on  the  coast.  It  was  in  part  the  effect  of  find- 
ing these  salt  springs  that  enabled  settlement  to  cross  the 
mountains. 

Land 

The  exploitation  of  the  beasts  took  hunter  and  trader  to 
the  West,  the  exploitation  of  the  grasses  took  the  rancher 
West,  and  the  exploitation  of  the  virgin  soil  of  the  river 
valleys  and  prairies  attracted  the  farmer.  Good  soils  have 
been  the  most  continuous  attraction  to  the  farmer's  frontier. 
When  the  science  of  physiography  is  more  completely  related 
to  the  study  of  our  history  it  will  be  seen  how  dependent  that 
history  was  upon  the  forces  that  carved  out  the  limestone 
valleys  and  deposited  alluvial  soils  along  the  river  courses. 
The  land  hunger  of  the  Virginians  drew  them  down  the  rivers 
into  Carolina,  in  early  colonial  days;  the  pursuit  of  good  soil 
took  the  Massachusetts  men  to  Pennsylvania  and  to  New 
York.  As  the  eastern  lands  were  taken  up  migration  flowed 
across  them  to  the  West.  Daniel  Boone,  the  great  back- 
woodsman, who  combined  the  occupations  of  hunter,  trader, 
cattle  raiser,  farmer,  and  surveyor  —  learning,  probably  from 
the  traders,  of  the  fertility  of  the  lands  on  the  upper  Yadkin, 
where  the  traders  were  wont  to  rest  as  they  took  their  way 
to  the  Indians  —  left  his  Pennsylvania  home  with  his  father, 
and  passed  down  the  Great  Valley  road  to  that  stream.  Learn- 
ing from  a  trader  whose  posts  were  on  the  Red  river  in  Ken- 
tucky of  its  game  and  rich  pastures,  he  pioneered  the  way 
for  the  farmers  to  that  region.  Thence  he  passed  to  the 
frontier  of  Missouri,  where  his  settlement  was  long  a  land- 
mark on  the  frontier.  Here  again  he  helped  to  open  the  way 
for  civilization,  finding  salt  licks  and  trails  and  land.  His 
son  was  among  the  earliest  trappers  in  the  passes  of  the  Rocky 
mountains,  and  his  party  is  said  to  have  been  the  first  to  camp 
on  the  present  site  of  Denver.     His  grandson,  Colonel  A.  J. 


370  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

Boone  of  Colorado,  was  a  power  among  the  Indians  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  and  was  appointed  an  agent  by  the  gov- 
ernment. Kit  Carson's  mother  was  a  Boone.^  Thus  this 
family  epitomizes  the  backwoodsman's  advance  across  the 
continent. 

The  farmer's  advance  came  in  a  distinct  series  of  waves. 
In  Peck's  New  Guide  to  the  West,  published  in  Boston  in  1837, 
occurs  this  suggestive  passage: 

Generally,  in  all  the  western  settlements,  three  classes,  like  the  waves  of 
the  ocean,  have  rolled  one  after  the  other.  First  comes  the  pioneer,  who 
depends  for  the  subsistence  of  his  family  chiefly  upon  the  natural  growth 
of  vegetation,  called  the  "range,"  and  the  proceeds  of  hunting.  His  imple- 
ments of  agriculture  are  rude,  chiefly  of  his  own  make,  and  his  efforts 
directed  mainly  to  a  crop  of  corn. and  a  "truck  patch."  The  last  is  a  rude 
garden  for  growing  cabbage,  beans,  corn  for  roasting  ears,  cucumbers,  and 
potatoes.  A  log  cabin,  and,  occasionally,  a  stable  and  corncrib,  and  a  field 
of  a  dozen  acres,  the  timber  girdled  or  "deadened,"  and  fenced,  are  enough 
for  his  occupancy.  It  is  quite  immaterial  whether  he  ever  becomes  the 
owner  of  the  soil.  He  is  the  occupant  for  the  time  being,  pays  no  rent,  and 
feels  as  independent  as  the  "lord  of  the  manor."  With  a  horse,  cow,  and 
one  or  two  breeders  of  swine,  he  strikes  into  the  woods  with  his  family, 
and  becomes  the  founder  of  a  new  country,  or  perhaps  state.  He  builds 
his  cabin,  gathers  around  him  a  few  other  families  of  similar  tastes  and 
habits,  and  occupies  until  the  range  is  somewhat  subdued,  and  hunting  a 
little  precarious,  or,  which  is  more  frequently  the  case,  tUl  the  neighbors 
crowd  around,  roads,  bridges,  and  fields  annoy  him,  and  he  lacks  elbow 
room.  The  preemption  law  enables  liim  to  dispose  of  his  cabin  and  corn- 
field to  the  next  class  of  emigrants;  and,  to  employ  his  own  figures,  he 
"breaks  for  the  high  timber,"  "clears  out  for  the  New  Purchase,"  or  migrates 
to  Arkansas  or  Texas,  to  work  the  same  process  over. 

The  next  class  of  emigrants  purchase  the  lands,  add  field  to  field,  clear 
out  the  roads,  throw  rough  bridges  over  the  streams,  put  up  hewn  log 
houses  with  glass  windows  and  brick  or  stone  chimneys,  occasionally  plant 
orchards,  build  mills,  schoolhouses,  etc.,  and  exhibit  the  picture  and  forms 
of  plain,  frugal,  civiUzed  hfe. 

Another  wave  rolls  on.  The  men  of  capital  and  enterprise  come.  The 
settler  is  ready  to  sell  out  and  take  the  advantage  of  the  rise  in  property, 
push  farther  into  the  interior,  and  become,  himself,  a  man  of  capital  and 

^  Hale,  Daniel  Boone  (pamphlet). 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY      371 

enterprise  in  turn.  The  small  village  rises  to  a  spacious  town  or  city; 
substantial  edifices  of  brick,  extensive  fields,  orchards,  gardens,  colleges,  and 
churches  are  seen.  Broadcloths,  sUks,  leghorns,  crapes,  and  all  the  refine- 
ments, luxuries,  elegancies,  frivolities,  and  fashions  are  in  vogue.  Thus 
wave  after  wave  is  roUing  westward;   the  real  Eldorado  is  stUl  further  on. 

A  portion  of  the  two  first  classes  remain  stationary  amidst  the  general 
movement,  improve  their  habits  and  condition,  and  rise  in  the  scale  of 
society. 

The  writer  has  traveled  much  amongst  the  first  class,  the  real  pioneers. 
He  has  Uved  many  years  in  coimection  with  second  grade;  and  now  the 
third  wave  is  sweeping  over  large  districts  of  Indiana,  lUinois,  and  Missouri. 
Migration  has  become  almost  a  habit  in  the  West.  Hundreds  of  men  can 
be  found,  not  over  fifty  years  of  age,  who  have  settled  for  the  fourth,  fifth, 
or  skth  time  on  a  new  spot.  To  sell  out  and  remove  only  a  few  hundred 
miles  makes  up  a  portion  of  the  variety  of  backwoods  life  and  manners.^ 

Omitting  those  of  the  pioneer  farmers  who  move  from  the 
love  of  adventure,  the  advance  of  the  more  steady  farmer  is 
easy  to  understand.  Obviously  the  immigrant  was  attracted 
by  the  cheap  lands  of  the  frontier,  and  even  the  native  farmer 
felt  their  influence  strongly.  Year  by  year  the  farmers  who 
lived  on  soil  whose  returns  were  diminished  by  unrotated 
crops  were  offered  the  virgin  soil  of  the  frontier  at  nominal 
prices.  Their  growing  families  demanded  more  lands,  and 
these  were  dear.  The  competition  of  the  unexhausted,  cheap, 
and  easily  tilled  prairie  lands  compelled  the  farmer  either  to 
go  West  and  continue  the  exhaustion  of  the  soil  on  a  new 
frontier,  or  to  adopt  intensive  culture.  Thus  the  census  of 
1890  shows,  in  the  Northwest,  many  counties  in  which  there 
is  an  absolute  or  a  relative  decrease  of  population.  These 
states  have  been  sending  farmers  to  advance  the  frontier  on 

'  Cf.  Baily,  Tour  in  the  Unsettled  Parts  of  North  America,  pp.  217-219 
[London,  1856],  where  a  similar  analysis  is  made  for  1796.  See  also  Collot, 
Journey  in  North  America,  p.  109  [Paris,  1826];  Observations  on  the  North 
American  Land  Company,  pp.  xv,  144  [London,  1796];  Logan,  History  of 
Upper  South  Carolina;  Murat,  Moral  and  Political  Sketch  of  the  United  States 
[London,  1833]  (also  under  the  title  America  and  Americans  [New 
York,  1849]);  Dwight,  Travels,  11,459;  iv,  32;  Roosevelt,  Winning  of  tJie 
West,  iii,  5. 


372  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

the  plains,  and  have  themselves  begun  to  turn  to  intensive 
farming  and  to  manufacture.  A  decade  before  this,  Ohio 
had  shown  the  same  transition  stage.  The  demand  for  land 
and  the  love  of  wilderness  freedom  drew  the  frontier  ever 
onward.  The  sectional  aspects  of  the  agricultural  frontier 
demand  historical  study.  The  United  States  Department  of 
Agriculture  has  published  two  bulletins  (Nos.  lo  and  ii,  of 
the  Division  of  Biological  Survey),  which  give  maps  showing 
the  Life  Zones  and  Crop  Zones  of  the  United  States,  and  the 
Geographic  Distribution  of  Cereals  in  North  America.  The 
census  volume  on  agriculture  contains  other  maps  showing 
the  distribution  of  various  crops  and  products.  As  the 
farmer's  frontier  advanced  westward  it  reached  and  traversed 
these  natural  physiographic  areas.  The  history  of  the  farmer's 
frontier  is  in  part  a  history  of  the  struggle  between  these 
natural  conditions  and  the  custom  of  the  farmer  to  raise  the 
crops  and  use  the  methods  of  the  other  regions  which  he  has 
left.  The  tragedy  of  the  occupation  of  the  arid  tract,  where 
the  optimism  of  the  pioneer  farmer  met  its  first  rude  rebuff 
by  nature  itself,  is  a  case  in  point. 

Having  now  roughly  outlined  the  various  kinds  of  frontiers, 
and  their  modes  of  advance,  chiefly  from  the  point  of  viev/  of 
the  frontier  itself,  we  next  inquire  what  were  the  influences 
on  the  East  and  on  the  Old  World.  A  rapid  enumeration 
of  some  of  the  more  noteworthy  effects  is  all  that  I  have 
space  for. 

Composite  Nationality 

First,  we  note  that  the  frontier  promoted  the  formation  of 
a  composite  nationality  for  the  American  people.  The  coast 
was  preponderantly  English,  but  the  later  tides  of  continental 
immigration  flowed  across  to  the  free  lands.  This  was  the 
case  from  the  early  colonial  days.  The  Scotch-Irish  and  the 
Palatine-Germans,  or  "Pennsylvania  Dutch,"  furnished  the 
dominant  element  in  the  stock  of  the  colonial  frontier.     With 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY      373 

these  peoples  were  also  the  freed  indented  servants,  or  re- 
demptioners,  who,  at  the  expiration  of  their  time  of  service, 
passed  to  the  frontier.  Governor  Spotswood,  of  Virginia, 
writes,  in  171 7,  "The  inhabitants  of  our  frontiers  are  com- 
posed generally  of  such  as  have  been  transported  hither  as 
servants,  and,  being  out  of  their  time,  settle  themselves 
where  land  is  to  be  taken  up  and  that  will  produce  the  neces- 
sarys  of  life  with  little  labour."  ^  Very  generally  these  re- 
demptioners  were  of  non-English  stock.  In  the  crucible  of 
the  frontier  the  immigrants  were  Americanized,  liberated, 
and  fused  into  a  mixed  race,  English  in  neither  nationality 
nor  characteristics.  The  process  has  gone  on  from  the  early 
days  to  our  own.  Burke  and  other  writers  in  the  middle 
of  the  eighteenth  century  believed  that  Pennsylvania  ^  was 
"threatened  with  the  danger  of  being  wholly  foreign  in  lan- 
guage, manners,  and  perhaps  even  inclinations."  The  German 
and  Scotch-Irish  elements  in  the  frontier  of  the  South  were 
only  less  great.  In  the  middle  of  the  present  century  the 
German  element  in  Wisconsin  was  already  so  considerable 
that  leading  publicists  looked  to  the  creation  of  a  German 
state  out  of  the  commonwealth  by  concentrating  their  coloni- 
zation.^ By  the  census  of  1890  South  Dakota  had  a  per- 
centage of  persons  of  foreign  parentage  to  total  population 
of  sixty;  Wisconsin,  seventy- three;  Minnesota,  seventy-five; 
and  North  Dakota,  seventy-nine.  Such  examples  teach  us 
to  beware  of  misinterpreting  the  fact  that  there  is  a  common 
English  speech  in  America  into  a  belief  that  the  stock  is  also 
English. 

Industrial  Independence 

In  another  way  the  advance  of  the  frontier  decreased  our 
dependence  on  England.     The  coast,  particularly  of  the  South, 

^  Spotswood  Papers,  in  Collections  of  Virginia  Historical  Society,  vols, 
i,  ii. 

2  Burke,  European  Settlements,  etc.  C1765  ed.],  ii,  200. 
^  Everest,  in  Wisconsin  Historical  Collections,  xii,  7  ff. 


374  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

lacked  diversified  industries,  and  was  dependent  on  England 
for  the  bulk  of  its  supplies.  In  the  South  there  was  even  a 
dependence  on  the  northern  colonies  for  articles  of  food. 
Governor  Glenn,  of  South  Carolina,  writes  in  the  middle  of 
the  eighteenth  century:  "Our  trade  with  New  York  and 
Philadelphia  was  of  this  sort,  draining  us  of  all  the  little 
money  and  bills  we  could  gather  from  other  places  for  their 
bread,  flour,  beer,  hams,  bacon,  and  other  things  of  their 
produce,  all  which,  except  beer,  our  new  townships  began  to 
supply  us  with,  which  are  settled  with  very  industrious  and 
thriving  Germans.  This  no  doubt  diminishes  the  number 
of  shipping  and  the  appearance  of  our  trade,  but  it  is  far  from 
being  a  detriment  to  us."  ^  Before  long  the  frontier  created 
a  demand  for  merchants.  As  it  retreated  from  the  coast  it 
became  less  and  less  possible  for  England  to  bring  her  supplies 
directly  to  the  consumers'  wharves,  and  carry  away  staple 
crops,  and  staple  crops  began  to  give  way  to  diversified  agri- 
culture for  a  time.  The  effect  of  this  phase  of  the  frontier 
action  upon  the  northern  section  is  perceived  when  we  realize 
how  the  advance  of  the  frontier  aroused  seaboard  cities  like 
Boston,  New  York,  and  Baltimore,  to  engage  in  rivalry  for 
what  Washington  called  "the  extensive  and  valuable  trade 
of  a  rising  empire." 

Effects  on  National  Legislation 

The  legislation  which  most  developed  the  powers  of  the 
national  government,  and  played  the  largest  part  in  its  activity, 
was  conditioned  on  the  frontier.  Writers  have  discussed  the 
subjects  of  tariff,  land,  and  internal  improvement  as  sub- 
sidiary to  the  slavery  question.  But  when  American  history 
comes  to  be  rightly  viewed  it  will  be  seen  that  the  slavery 
question  is  an  incident.  In  the  period  from  the  end  of  the 
first  half  of  the  present  century  to  the  close  of  the  Civil  War 
slavery  rose  to  primary,  but  far  from  exclusive,  importance. 

^  Weston,  Documents  connected  with  History  of  South  Carolina,  p.  6i. 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY      375 

But  this  does  not  justify  Dr.  von  Hoist  (to  take  an  example) 
in  treating  our  constitutional  history  in  its  formative  period 
down  to  1828  in  a  single  volume,  giving  six  volumes  chiefly 
to  the  history  of  slavery  from  1828  to  1861,  under  the  title 
Constitutional  History  of  the  United  States.  The  growth  of 
nationalism  and  the  evolution  of  American  political  institu- 
tions were  dependent  on  the  advance  of  the  frontier.  Even 
so  recent  a  writer  as  Rhodes,  in  his  history  of  the  United 
States  since  the  compromise  of  1850,  has  treated  the  legislation 
called  out  by  the  western  advance  as  incidental  to  the  slavery 
struggle. 

This  is  a  wrong  perspective.  The  pioneer  needed  the  goods 
of  the  coast,  and  so  the  grand  series  of  internal  improvement 
and  railroad  legislation  began,  with  potent  nationalizing 
effects.  Over  internal  improvements  occurred  great  debates, 
in  which  grave  constitutional  questions  were  discussed. 
Sectional  groupings  appear  in  the  votes,  profoundly  significant 
for  the  historian.^  Loose  construction  increased  as  the  nation 
marched  westward.^  But  the  West  was  not  content  with 
bringing  the  farm  to  the  factory.  Under  the  lead  of  Clay 
—  "Harry  of  the  West" — protective  tariffs  were  passed, 
with  the  cry  of  bringing  the  factory  to  the  farm.  The  dis- 
position of  the  public  lands  was  a  third  important  subject  of 
national  legislation  influenced  by  the  frontier. 

Effects  on  Institutions 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  do  more  than  mention  the  fact 
that  the  West  was  a  field  in  which  new  political  institutions 
were  to  be  created.  It  offered  a  wide  opportunity  for  specu- 
lative creation  and  for  adjustment  of  old  institutions  to  new 

'  Cf.  Libby,  "Plea  for  the  Study  of  Votes  in  Congress,"  in  Report  of 
American  Historical  Association  for  i8g6,  p.  223;  Turner,  Rise  of  the  New 
West,  Introduction. 

*  See,  for  example,  the  speech  of  Clay,  in  the  House  of  Representatives, 
January  30,  1824. 


376  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

conditions.  The  study  of  the  evolution  of  western  institu- 
tions shows  how  slight  was  the  proportion  of  actual  theoretic 
invention  of  institutions;  but  there  is  abundance  of  oppor- 
tunity for  study  of  the  sources  of  the  institutions  actually 
chosen,  the  causes  of  the  selection,  the  degree  of  transformation 
by  the  new  conditions,  and  the  new  institutions  actually 
produced  by  the  new  environment. 

The  Public  Domain 

The  public  domain  has  been  a  force  of  profound  importance 
in  the  nationalization  and  development  of  the  government. 
The  effects  of  the  struggle  of  the  landed  and  the  landless  states, 
and  of  the  ordinance  of  1787,  need  no  discussion.^  Admin- 
istratively the  frontier  called  out  some  of  the  highest  and 
most  vitalizing  activities  of  the  general  government.  The 
purchase  of  Louisiana  was  perhaps  the  constitutional  turning 
point  in  the  history  of  the  republic,  inasmuch  as  it  afforded 
both  a  new  area  for  national  legislation  and  the  occasion  of 
the  downfall  of  the  policy  of  strict  construction.  But  the 
purchase  of  Louisiana  was  called  out  by  frontier  needs  and 
demands.  As  frontier  states  accrued  to  the  Union  the  national 
power  grew.  In  a  speech  on  the  dedication  of  the  Calhoun 
monument,  Mr.  Lamar  explained,  "In  1789  the  states  were 
the  creators  of  the  federal  government;  in  i86j  the  federal 
government  was  the  creator  of  a  large  majority  of  the  states." 

When  we  consider  the  public  domain  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  sale  and  disposal  of  the  public  lands,^  we  are 
again  brought  face  to  face  with  the  frontier.  The  policy  of 
the  United  States  in  dealing  with  its  lands  is  in  sharp  contrast 

1  See  the  admirable  monograph  by  Professor  H.  B.  Adams,  Maryland's 
Influence  on  the  Land  Cessions;  and  also  President  Welling,  in  Papers  Ameri- 
can Historical  Association,  iii,  411;    Barrett,  Evolution  of  the  Ordinance  of 

1787. 

2  Sanborn,  "Congressional  Land  Grants  in  Aid  of  Raikoads,"  Bulletin 
of  the  University  of  Wisconsin ;  Donaldson,  Public  Domain. 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY      377 

with  the  European  system  of  scientific  administration.  Efforts 
to  make  this  domain  a  source  of  revenue,  and  to  withhold 
it  from  emigrants  in  order  that  settlement  might  be  compact, 
were  in  vain.  The  jealousy  and  the  fears  of  the  East  were 
powerless  in  the  face  of  the  demands  of  the  frontiersmen. 
John  Quincy  Adams  was  obliged  to  confess:  "My  own  system 
of  administration,  which  was  to  make  the  national  domain 
the  inexhaustible  fund  for  progressive  and  unceasing  internal 
improvement,  has  failed."  The  reason  is  obvious;  a  system 
of  administration  was  not  what  the  West  demanded;  it  wanted 
land.  Adams  states  the  situation  as  follows:  "The  slave- 
holders of  the  South  have  bought  the  cooperation  of  the 
western  country  by  the  bribe  of  the  western  lands,  abandon- 
ing to  the  new  western  states  their  own  proportion  of  the 
public  property  and  aiding  them  in  the  design  of  grasping  all 
the  lands  into  their  own  hands.  Thomas  H.  Benton  was  the 
author  of  this  system,  which  he  brought  forward  as  a  substi- 
tute for  the  American  system  of  Mr.  Clay,  and  to  supplant 
him  as  the  leading  statesman  of  the  West.  Mr.  Clay,  by 
his  tariff  compromise  with  Mr.  Calhoun,  abandoned  his  own 
American  system.  At  the  same  time  he  brought  forward  a 
plan  for  distributing  among  all  the  states  of  the  Union  the 
proceeds  of  the  sales  of  the  public  lands.  His  bill  for  that 
purpose  passed  both  houses  of  Congress,  but  was  vetoed  by 
President  Jackson,  who,  in  his  annual  message  of  December, 
1832,  formally  recommended  that  all  public  lands  should  be 
gratuitously  given  away  to  individual  adventurers  and  to  the 
states  in  which  the  lands  are  situated.^ 

"No  subject,"  said  Henry  Clay,  "which  has  presented  itself 
to  the  present,  or  perhaps  any  preceding,  Congress,  is  of  greater 
magnitude  than  that  of  the  public  lands."  When  we  consider 
the  far-reaching  effecis  of  the  government's  land  policy  upon 
political,  economic,  and  social  aspects  of  American  life,  we 
are  disposed  to  agree  with  him.  But  this  legislation  was 
*  J.  Q.  Adams,  Memoirs,  ix,  247,  248. 


378  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

framed  under  frontier  influences,  and  under  the  lead  of  west- 
ern statesmen  like  Benton  and  Jackson.  Said  Senator  Scott, 
of  Indiana,  in  1841:  "I  consider  the  preemption  law  merely 
declaratory  of  the  custom  or  common  law  of  the  settlers." 

National  Tendencies  of  the  Frontier 

It  is  safe  to  say  that  the  legislation  with  regard  to  land, 
tariff,  and  internal  improvements  —  the  American  system  of 
the  nationalizing  Whig  party  —  was  conditioned  on  frontier 
ideas  and  needs.  But  it  was  not  merely  in  legislative  action 
that  the  frontier  worked  against  the  sectionalism  of  the  coast. 
The  economic  and  social  characteristics  of  the  frontier  worked 
against  sectionalism.  The  men  of  the  frontier  had  closer  re- 
semblances to  the  middle  region  than  to  either  of  the  other 
sections.  Pennsylvania  had  been  the  seed  plot  of  southern 
frontier  emigration,  and  although  she  passed  on  her  settlers 
along  the  Great  Valley  into  the  west  of  Virginia  and  the  Caro- 
linas,  yet  the  industrial  society  of  these  southern  frontiersmen 
was  always  more  like  that  of  the  middle  region  than  like  that 
of  the  tide-water  portion  of  the  South,  which  later  came  to 
spread  its  industrial  type  throughout  the  South. 

The  middle  region,  entered  by  New  York  harbor,  was  an 
open  door  to  all  Europe.  The  tide-water  part  of  the  South 
represented  typical  Enghshmen,  modified  by  a  warm  climate 
and  servile  labor,  and  living  in  baronial  fashion  on  great 
plantations;  New  England  stood  for  a  special  EngHsh  move- 
ment, —  Puritanism.  The  middle  region  was  less  EngHsh 
than  the  other  sections.  It  had  a  wide  mixture  of  nationalities, 
a  varied  society,  the  mixed  town  and  county  system  of  local 
government,  a  varied  economic  life,  many  religious  sects. 
In  short,  it  was  a  region  mediating  between  New  England 
and  the  South,  and  the  East  and  the  West.  It  represented 
the  composite  nationality  which  the  contemporary  United 
States  exhibits,  that  juxtaposition  of  non-Enghsh  groups, 
occupying   a   valley   or   a   little   settlement,    and   presenting 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY      379 

reflections  of  the  map  of  Europe  in  their  variety.  It  was 
democratic  and  non-sectional,  if  not  national;  "easy,  tolerant, 
and  contented";  rooted  strongly  in  material  prosperity. 
It  was  typical  of  the  modern  United  States.  It  was  least 
sectional,  not  only  because  it  lay  between  North  and  South, 
but  also  because  with  no  barriers  to  shut  out  its  frontiers  from 
its  settled  region,  and  with  a  system  of  connecting  water- 
ways, the  middle  region  mediated  between  East  and  West 
as  well  as  between  North  and  South.  Thus  it  became  the 
typically  American  region.  Even  the  New  Englander,  who 
was  shut  out  from  the  frontier  by  the  middle  region,  tarrying 
in  New  York  or  Pennsylvania  on  his  westward  march,  lost 
the  acuteness  of  his  sectionalism  on  the  way.^ 

Moreover,  it  must  be  recalled  that  the  western  and  central 
New  England  settler  who  furnished  the  western  movement 
was  not  the  typical  tide- water  New  Englander:  he  was  less 
conservative  and  contented,  more  democratic  and  restless. 

The  spread  of  cotton  culture  into  the  interior  of  the  South 
finally  broke  down  the  contrast  between  the  "tide- water" 
region  and  the  rest  of  the  South,  and  based  southern  interests 
on  slavery.  Before  this  process  revealed  its  results,  the 
western  portion  of  the  South,  which  was  akin  to  Pennsyl- 
vania in  stock,  society,  and  industry,  showed  tendencies  to 
fall  away  from  the  faith  of  the  fathers  into  internal  improve- 
ment legislation  and  nationalism.  In  the  Virginia  convention 
of  1 8 29-1 830,  called  to  revise  the  constitution,  Mr.  Leigh,  of 
Chesterfield,  one  of  the  tide- water  counties,  declared: 

One  of  the  main  causes  of  discontent  which  led  to  this  convention, 
that  which  had  the  strongest  influence  in  overcoming  our  veneration 
for  the  work  of  our  fathers,  which  taught  us  to  contemn  the  senti- 
ments of  Henry  and  Mason  and  Pendleton,  which  weaned  us  from  our 
reverence  for  the  constituted  authorities  of  the  state,  was  an  over- 
weening passion  for  internal  improvement.  I  say  this  with  perfect 
knowledge,  for  it  has  been  avowed  to  me  by  gentlemen  from  the  West 

1  Author's  article  in  The  /Egis  [Madison,  Wis.],  November  4,  1892,  and 
Atlantic  Monthly,  September,  1896,  p.  294,  and  April,  1897,  pp.  436,  441,  442. 


38o  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

over  and  over  again.  And  let  me  tell  the  gentleman  from  Albemarle 
(Mr.  Gordon)  that  it  has  been  another  principal  object  of  those  who 
set  this  ball  of  revolution  in  motion,  to  overturn  the  doctrine  of  state 
rights,  of  which  Virginia  has  been  the  very  pillar,  and  to  remove  the 
barrier  she  has  interposed  to  the  interference  of  the  federal  govern- 
ment in  that  same  work  of  internal  improvement,  by  so  reorganizing 
the  legislature  that  Virginia,  too,  may  be  hitched  to  the  federal  car. 

It  was  this  nationalizing  tendency  of  the  West  that  trans- 
formed the  democracy  of  Jefferson  into  the  national  repub- 
licanism of  Monroe  and  the  democracy  of  Andrew  Jackson. 
The  West  of  the  War  of  1812,  the  West  of  Clay  and  Benton 
and  Harrison  and  Andrew  Jackson,  shut  off  by  the  Middle 
States  and  the  mountains  from  the  coast  sections,  had  a 
solidarity  of  its  own  with  national  tendencies.^  On  the  tide 
of  the  Father  of  Waters,  North  and  South  met  and  mingled 
into  a  nation.  Interstate  migration  went  steadily  on,  —  a 
process  of  cross-fertilization  of  ideas  and  institutions.  The 
fierce  struggle  of  the  sections  over  slavery  on  the  western 
frontier  does  not  diminish  the  truth  of  this  statement;  it 
proves  the  truth  of  it.  Slavery  was  a  sectional  trait  that 
would  not  down,  but  in  the  West  it  could  not  remain  sectional. 
It  was  the  greatest  of  frontiersmen  who  declared:  "I  believe 
this  government  cannot  endure  permanently  half  slave  and 
half  free.  It  will  become  all  of  one  thing  or  all  of  the  other." 
Nothing  works  for  nationalism  like  intercourse  within  the 
nation.  Mobility  of  population  is  death  to  localism,  and  the 
western  frontier  worked  irresistibly  in  unsettling  population. 
The  effects  reached  back  from  the  frontier,  and  affected 
profoundly  the  Atlantic  coast  and  even  the  Old  World. 

Growth  of  Democracy 

But  the  most  important  effect  of  the  frontier  has  been  in 
the  promotion  of  democracy  here  and  in  Europe.  As  has 
been  indicated,   the  frontier  is  productive  of  individualism. 

^  Cf.  Roosevelt,  Thomas  Benton,  chap.  i. 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY       381 

Complex  society  is  precipitated  by  the  wilderness  into  a  kind 
of  primitive  organization  based  on  the  family.  The  tendency 
is  anti-social.  It  produces  antipathy  to  control,  and  par- 
ticularly to  any  direct  control.  The  taxgatherer  is  viewed 
as  a  representative  of  oppression.  Professor  Osgood,  in  an 
able  article,^  has  pointed  out  that  the  frontier  conditions 
prevalent  in  the  colonies  are  important  factors  in  the  expla- 
nation of  the  American  Revolution,  where  individual  liberty 
was  sometimes  confused  with  absence  of  all  effective  govern- 
ment. The  same  conditions  aid  in  explaining  the  difficulty 
of  instituting  a  strong  government  in  the  period  of  the  Con- 
federacy. The  frontier  individualism  has  from  the  beginning 
promoted  democracy. 

The  frontier  states  that  came  into  the  Union  in  the  first 
quarter  of  a  century  of  its  existence  came  in  with  democratic 
suffrage  provisions,  and  had  reactive  effects  of  the  highest 
importance  upon  the  older  states  whose  peoples  were  being 
attracted  there.  An  extension  of  the  franchise  became 
essential.  It  was  western  New  York  that  forced  an  extension 
of  suffrage  in  the  constitutional  convention  of  that  state  in 
1 821;  and  it  was  western  Virginia  that  compelled  the  tide- 
water region  to  put  a  more  liberal  suffrage  provision  in  the 
constitution  framed  in  1830,  and  to  give  to  the  frontier  region 
a  more  nearly  proportionate  representation  with  the  tide- 
water aristocracy.  The  rise  of  democracy  as  an  effective 
force  in  the  nation  came  in  with  western  preponderance  under 
Jackson  and  William  Henry  Harrison,  and  it  meant  the 
triumph  of  the  frontier  —  with  all  of  its  good  and  with  all 
of  its  evil  element. 2  An  interesting  illustration  of  the  tone  of 
frontier  democracy  in  1830  comes  from  the  same  debates  in 
the  Virginia  convention  already  referred  to.  A  representative 
from  western  Virginia  declared: 

^  Political  Science  Quarterly,  ii,  457;   Sumner,  Alexander  Hamilton,  chaps, 
ii-vii;   Turner,  in  Atlantic  Monthly,  January,  1903. 
2  Cf.  Wilson,  Division  and  Reunion,  pp.  15,  24. 


382  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

But,  sir,  it  is  not  the  increase  of  population  in  the  West  which  this 
gentleman  ought  to  fear.  It  is  the  energy  which  the  mountain  breeze 
and  western  habits  impart  to  those  emigrants.  They  are  regenerated, 
pohtically  I  mean,  sir.  They  soon  become  working  politicians;  and 
the  difference,  sir,  between  a  talking  and  a  working  politician  is  im- 
mense. The  Old  Dominion  has  long  been  celebrated  for  producing 
great  orators;  the  ablest  metaphysicians  in  policy;  men  that  can  split 
hairs  in  all  abstruse  questions  of  political  economy.  But  at  home,  or 
when  they  return  from  Congress,  they  have  negroes  to  fan  them  asleep. 
But  a  Pennsylvania,  a  New  York,  an  Ohio,  or  a  western  Virginia 
statesman,  though  far  inferior  in  logic,  metaphysics,  and  rhetoric  to 
an  old  Virginia  statesman,  has  this  advantage,  that  when  he  returns 
home  he  takes  off  his  coat  and  takes  hold  of  the  plow.  This  gives 
him  bone  and  muscle,  sir,  and  preserves  his  republican  principles  pure 
and  uncontaminated. 

So  long  as  free  land  exists,  the  opportunity  for  a  competency 
exists,  and  economic  power  secures  political  power.  But  the 
democracy  born  of  free  land,  strong  in  selfishness  and  individ- 
ualism, intolerant  of  adm.inistrative  experience  and  education, 
and  pressing  individual  liberty  beyond  its  proper  bounds, 
has  its  dangers  as.  well  as  its  benefits.  Individualism  in 
America  has  allowed  a  laxity  in  regard  to  governmental 
affairs  which  has  rendered  possible  the  spoils  system  and  all 
the  manifest  evils  that  follow  from  the  lack  of  a  highly  devel- 
oped civic  spirit.  In  this  connection  may  be  noted  also  the 
influence  of  frontier  conditions  in  permitting  inflated  paper 
currency  and  wild-cat  banking.  The  colonial  and  revolu- 
tionary frontier  was  the  region  whence  emanated  many  of 
the  worst  forms  of  paper  currency.^  The  West  in  the  War  of 
181 2  repeated  the  phenomenon  on  the  frontier  of  that  day, 
while  the  speculation  and  wild-cat  banking  of  the  period  of 
the  crisis  of  1837  occurred  on  the  new  frontier  belt  of  the  next 
tier  of  states.  Thus  each  one  of  the  periods  of  paper-money 
projects  coincides  with  periods  when  a  new  set  of  frontier 
communities  had  arisen,   and   coincides  in  area  with   these 

^  On  the  relation  of  frontier  conditions  to  Revolutionary  taxation,  see 
Sumner,  Alexartder  Hamilton,  chap.  iii. 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY      383 

successive  frontiers,  for  the  most  part.  The  recent  radical 
Populist  agitation  is  a  case  in  point.  Many  a  state  that  now 
declines  any  connection  with  the  tenets  of  the  Populists 
itself  adhered  to  such  ideas  in  an  earlier  stage  of  the  develop- 
ment of  the  state.  A  primitive  society  can  hardly  be  expected 
to  show  the  appreciation  of  the  complexity  of  business  interests 
in  a  developed  society.  The  continual  recurrence  of  these 
areas  of  paper-money  agitation  is  another  evidence  that  the 
frontier  can  be  isolated  and  studied  as  a  factor  in  American 
history  of  the  highest  importance. 

Attempts  to  Check  and  Regulate  the  Frontier 

The  East  has  always  feared  the  result  of  an  unregulated 
advance  of  the  frontier,  and  has  tried  to  check  and  guide  it. 
The  English  authorities  would  have  checked  settlement  at 
the  head  waters  of  the  Atlantic  tributaries  and  allowed  the 
"savages  to  enjoy  their  deserts  in  quiet  lest  the  peltry  trade 
should  decrease."     This  called  out  Burke's  splendid  protest: 

If  you  stopped  your  grants,  what  would  be  the  consequence?  The 
people  would  occupy  without  grants.  They  have  already  so  occupied 
in  many  places.  You  cannot  station  garrisons  in  every  part  of  these 
deserts.  If  you  drive  the  people  from  one  place,  they  will  carry  on 
their  annual  tillage  and  remove  with  their  flocks  and  herds  to  another. 
Many  of  the  people  in  the  back  settlements  are  already  little  attached 
to  particular  situations.  Already  they  have  topped  the  Appalachian 
mountains.  From  thence  they  behold  before  them  an  immense  plain, 
one  vast,  rich,  level  meadow;  a  square  of  five  hundred  miles.  Over 
this  they  would  wander  without  a  possibility  of  restraint;  they  would 
change  their  manners  with  their  habits  of  life;  they  would  soon  forget 
a  government  by  which  they  were  disowned;  would  become  hordes 
of  English  Tartars;  and,  pouring  down  upon  your  unfortified  frontiers 
a  fierce  and  irresistible  cavalry,  become  masters  of  your  governors 
and  your  counselors,  your  collectors  and  comptrollers,  and  of  all  the 
slaves  that  adhered  to  them.  Such  would,  and  in  no  long  time  must, 
be  the  attempt  to  forbid  as  a  crime  and  to  suppress  as  an  evil 
the  command  and  blessing  of  Providence,  "increase  and  multiply." 
Such  would  be  the  happy  result  of  an  endeavor  to  keep  as  a  lair  of 


384  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

wild  beasts  that  earth  which  God,  by  an  express  charter,  has  given 
to  the  children  of  men. 

But  the  English  government  was  not  alone  in  its  desire 
to  limit  the  advance  of  the  frontier  and  guide  its  destinies. 
Tide-water  Virginia  ^  and  South  Carolina  ^  gerrymandered 
those  colonies  to  insure  the  dominance  of  the  coast  in  their 
legislatures.  Washington  desired  to  settle  a  state  at  a  time 
in  the  Northwest.  In  the  constitutional  convention  of  1787 
Gouverneur  Morris  declared  that  the  western  country  would 
not  be  able  to  furnish  men  equally  enlightened  to  share  in 
the  administration  of  our  common  interests.  The  busy 
haunts  of  men,  not  the  remote  wilderness,  was  the  proper 
school  of  political  talents.  "If  the  western  people  get  power 
into  their  hands,  they  will  ruin  the  Atlantic  interest.  The 
back  members  are  always  most  averse  to  the  best  measures." 
He  desired,  therefore,  to  fix  such  a  rule  of  congressional  repre- 
sentation that  the  Atlantic  States  could  always  outvote  the 
Western.^  Jefferson  would  reserve  from  settlement  the  terri- 
tory of  his  Louisiana  purchase  north  of  the  thirty-second 
parallel,  in  order  to  offer  it  to  the  Indians  in  exchange  for  their 
settlements  east  of  the  Mississippi.  "When  we  shall  be  full 
on  this  side,"  he  writes,  "we  may  lay  off  a  range  of  states  on 
the  western  bank  from  the  head  to  the  mouth,  and  so  range 
after  range,  advancing  compactly  as  we  multiply."  Madison 
went  so  far  as  to  argue  to  the  French  minister  that  the  United 
States  had  no  interest  in  seeing  population  extend  itself  on 
the  right  bank  of  the  Mississippi,  but  should  rather  fear  it. 
When  the  Oregon  question  was  under  debate,  in  1842,  Smyth, 
of  Virginia,  would  draw  an  unchangeable  line  for  the  limits 
of  the  United  States  at  the  outer  limit  of  two  tiers  of  states 

'  Debates  in  the  Virginia  Constitutional  Convention,  1829-1830. 

^  Calhoun,  Works,  i,  401-406. 

^  Elliot's  Debates,  v,  298.  Cf.  Josiah  Quincy's  outburst  in  the  House 
of  Representatives  on  the  admission  of  Louisiana,  January  14,  181 1.  See 
Johnston,  American  Orations,  i,  145. 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY       385 

beyond  the  Mississippi,  complaining  that  the  seaboard  states 
were  being  drained  of  the  flower  of  their  population  by  the 
bringing  of  too  much  land  into  market.  Even  Thomas  Benton, 
the  man  of  widest  views  of  the  destiny  of  the  West,  at  this 
stage  of  his  career  declared  that  along  the  ridge  of  the  Rocky 
mountains  "  the  western  limits  of  the  republic  should  be  drawn, 
and  the  statue  of  the  fabled  god  Terminus  should  be  raised 
upon  its  highest  peak,  never  to  be  thrown  down."  ^  But 
the  attempts  to  limit  the  boundaries,  to  restrict  land  sales 
and  settlement,  and  to  deprive  the  West  of  its  share  of  political 
power  were  all  in  vain.  Steadily  the  frontier  of  settlement 
advanced  and  carried  with  it  individualism,  democracy,  and 
nationalism,  and  powerfully  affected  the  East  and  the  Old 
World. 

Religious  Organization 

The  most  effective  efforts  of  the  East  to  regulate  the  frontier 
came  through  its  educational  and  religious  activity,  exerted 
by  interstate  migration  and  by  organized  societies.  Speaking, 
in  1835,  Dr.  Lyman  Beecher  declared:  "It  is  equally  plain  that 
the  religious  and  political  destiny  of  our  nation  is  to  be  decided 
in  the  West,"  and  he  pointed  out  that  the  population  of  the 
West  "is  assembled  from  all  the  states  of  the  Union  and  from 
all  the  nations  of  Europe,  and  is  rushing  in  like  the  waters 
of  the  flood,  demanding  for  its  moral  preservation  the  imme- 
diate and  universal  action  of  those  institutions  which  dis- 
cipline the  mind  and  arm,  the  conscience  and  the  heart.  And 
so  various  are  the  opinions  and  habits,  and  so  recent  and 
imperfect  is  the  acquaintance,  and  so  sparse  are  the  settle- 
ments of  the  West,  that  no  homogeneous  public  sentiment 
can  be  formed  to  legislate  immediately  into  being  the  requisite 
institutions.  And  yet  they  are  all  needed  immediately  in 
their  utmost  perfection  and  power.  A  nation  is  being  'born 
in   a  day.'  .  .  .  But  what  will   become  of  the  West  if  her 

'  Speech  in  the  Senate,  March  i,  1825;   Register  of  Debates,  i,  721. 


386  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

prosperity  rushes  up  to  such  a  majesty  of  power,  while  those 
great  institutions  linger  which  are  necessary  to  form  the  mind 
and  the  conscience  and  the  heart  of  that  vast  world?  It 
must  not  be  permitted.  .  .  .  Let  no  man  in  the  East  quiet 
himself  and  dream  of  liberty,  whatever  may  become  of  the 
West.  .  .  .  Her  destiny  is  our  destiny." 

With  the  appeal  to  the  conscience  of  New  England,  he 
adds  appeals  to  her  fears  lest  other  religious  sects  anticipate 
her  own.  The  New  England  preacher  and  the  school-teacher 
left  their  mark  on  the  West.  The  dread  of  western  emanci- 
pation from  New  England's  political  and  economic  control 
was  paralleled  by  her  fears  lest  the  West  cut  loose  from  her 
religion.  Commenting,  in  1850,  on  reports  that  settlement 
was  rapidly  extending  northward  in  Wisconsin,  the  editor 
of  the  Home  Missionary  writes:  "We  scarcely  know  whether 
to  rejoice  or  mourn  over  this  extension  of  our  settlements. 
While  we  sympathize  in  whatever  tends  to  increase  the  phys- 
ical resources  and  prosperity  of  our  country,  we  cannot  forget 
that  with  all  these -dispersions  into  remote  and  still  remoter 
corners  of  the  land  the  supply  of  the  means  of  grace  is  becom- 
ing relatively  less  and  less."  Acting  in  accordance  with  such 
ideas,  home  missions  were  established  and  western  colleges 
were  erected.  As  seaboard  cities  like  Philadelphia,  New  York, 
and  Baltimore  strove  for  the  mastery  of  western  trade,  so 
the  various  denominations  strove  for  the  possession  of  the 
West.  Thus  an  intellectual  stream  from  New  England 
sources  fertilized  the  West.  Other  sections  sent  their  mis- 
sionaries; but  the  real  struggle  was  between  sects.  The  con- 
test for  power  and  the  expansive  tendency  furnished  to  the 
various  sects  by  the  existence  of  a  moving  frontier  had  im- 
portant results  on  the  character  of  religious  organization  in 
the  United  States.  The  multiplication  of  rival  churches  in 
the  little  frontier  towns  had  deep  and  lasting  social  effects. 
The  effects  of  western  freedom  and  newness  in  producing 
religious  isms  is  noteworthy.     Illustrations  of  this  tendency 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY       387 

may  be  seen  in  the  development  of  the  Millerites,  Spiritualists, 
and  Mormons  of  western  New  York  in  its  frontier  days.  In 
general  the  religious  aspects  of  the  frontier  deserved  study. 

Intellectual  Traits 

From  the  conditions  of  frontier  life  came  intellectual  traits 
of  profound  importance.  The  works  of  travelers  along  each 
frontier  from  colonial  days  onward  describe  certain  common 
traits,  and  these  traits  have,  while  softening  down,  still  per- 
sisted as  survivals  in  the  place  of  their  origin,  even  when  a 
higher  social  organization  succeeded.  The  result  is  that  to  the 
frontier  the  American  intellect  owes  its  striking  characteristics. 
That  coarseness  and  strength  combined  with  acuteness  and 
inquisitiveness;  that  practical,  inventive  turn  of  mind,  quick 
to  find  expedients;  that  masterful  grasp  of  material  things, 
lacking  in  the  artistic,  but  powerful  to  effect  great  ends; 
that  restless,  nervous  energy;  ^  that  dominant  individuahsm, 
working  for  good  and  for  evil,  and,  withal,  that  buoyancy 
and  exuberance  which  come  with  freedom,  —  these  are  traits 
of  the  frontier,  or  traits  called  out  elsewhere  because  of  the 
existence  of  the  frontier.  We  are  not  easily  aware  of  the  deep 
influence  of  this  individualistic  way  of  thinking  upon  our 
present  conditions.  It  persists  in  the  midst  of  a  society  that 
has  passed  away  from  the  conditions  that  occasioned  it.  It 
makes  it  difficult  to  secure  social  regulation  of  business  enter- 
prises that  are  essentially  public;  it  is  a  stumbling-block 
in  the  way  of  civil-service  reform;   it  permeates  our  doctrines 

1  Colonial  travelers  agree  in  remarking  on  the  phlegmatic  characteristics 
of  the  colonists.  It  has  frequently  been  asked  how  such  a  people  could 
have  developed  that  strained  ner\'ous  energy  now  characteristic  of  them. 
Cf.  Sumner,  Alexmxder  Hamilton,  p.  98,  and  Adams,  History  of  the  United 
States,  i,  60;  ix,  240,  241.  The  transition  appears  to  become  marked  at 
the  close  of  the  War  of  181 2,  a  period  when  interest  centered  upon  the 
development  of  the  West,  and  the  West  was  noted  for  restless  energy.  — 
Grund,  Americans,  ii,  i. 


388  FREDERICK  J.  TURNER 

of  education;  ^  but  with  the  passing  of  the  free  lands  a  vast 
extension  of  the  social  tendency  may  be  expected  in  America. 
Ratzel,  the  well-known  geographer,  has  pointed  out  the 
fact  that  for  centuries  the  great  unoccupied  area  of  America 
furnished  to  the  American  spirit  something  of  its  own  largeness. 
It  has  given  a  largeness  of  design  and  an  optimism  to  American 
thought.^  Since  the  days  when  the  fleet  of  Columbus  sailed 
into  the  waters  of  the  New  World,  America  has  been  another 
name  for  opportunity,  and  the  people  of  the  United  States 
have  taken  their  tone  from  the  incessant  expansion  which  has 
not  only  been  open,  but  has  even  been  forced  upon  them.  He 
would  be  a  rash  prophet  who  should  assert  that  the  expansive 
character  of  American  life  has  now  entirely  ceased.  Move- 
ment has  been  its  dominant  fact,  and,  unless  this  training 
has  no  effect  upon  a  people,  the  American  energy  will  contin- 
ually demand  a  wider  field  for  its  exercise.^  But  never  again 
will  such  gifts  of  free  land  offer  themselves.  For  a  moment, 
at  the  frontier,  the  bonds  of  custom  are  broken  and  unrestraint 
is  triumphant.  There  is  not  tabula  rasa.  The  stubborn 
American  environment  is  there  with  its  imperious  summons 
to  accept  its  conditions;  the  inherited  ways  of  doing  things  are 
also  there;  and  yet,  in  spite  of  environment,  and  in  spite  of 
custom,  each  frontier  did  indeed  furnish  a  new  field  of  oppor- 
tunity, a  gate  of  escape  from  the  bondage  of  the  past;  and 
freshness,  and  confidence,  and  scorn  of  older  society,  impa- 
tience of  its  restraints  and  its  ideas,  and  indifference  to  its 
lessons  have  accompanied  the  frontier.  What  the  Mediter- 
ranean sea  was  to  the  Greeks,  breaking  the  bond  of  custom, 

^  See  the  able  paper  by  Professor  De  Garmo  on  "Social  Aspects  of 
Moral  Education,"  in  the  Third  Yearbook  of  the  National  Herbart  Society, 
1897,  p.  37- 

^  See  paper  on  "The  West  as  a  Field  for  Historical  Study,"  in  Report  of 
American  Historical  Association  for  i8g6,  pp.  279-319. 

'  The  commentary  upon  this  sentence  —  written  in  1893  —  hes  in  the 
recent  history  of  Hawaii,  Cuba,  Porto  Rico,  the  Philippines,  and  the  Isth- 
mian Canal. 


THE  FRONTIER  IN  AMERICAN  HISTORY      389 

oflfering  new  experiences,  calling  out  new  institutions  and 
activities,  that,  and  more,  the  ever-retreating  frontier  has 
been  to  the  United  States  directly,  and  to  the  nations  of 
Europe  more  remotely.  And  now,  four  centuries  from  the 
discovery  of  America,  at  the  end  of  a  hundred  years  of  life 
under  the  Constitution,  the  frontier  has  gone,  and  with  its 
going  has  closed  the  first  period  of  American  history. 


THE   FATALISM   OF   THE   MULTITUDE  ^ 

James  Bryce 

One  feature  of  thought  and  sentiment  in  the  United  States 
needs  a  chapter  to  itself  because  it  has  been  by  most  observers 
of  the  country  either  ignored  or  confounded  with  a  phenomenon 
which  is  at  bottom  quite  different.  This  is  a  fatalistic  atti- 
tude of  mind,  which,  since  it  disposes  men  to  acquiesce  in 
the  rule  of  numbers,  has  been,  when  perceived,  attributed 
to  or  identified  with  what  is  commonly  called  the  Tyranny  of 
the  Majority.  The  tendency  to  fatalism  is  never  far  from 
mankind.  It  is  one  of  the  first  solutions  of  the  riddle  of  the 
earth  propounded  by  metaphysics.  It  is  one  of  the  last 
propounded  by  science.  It  has  at  all  times  formed  the  back- 
ground to  religions.  No  race  is  naturally  less  disposed  to 
a  fatalistic  view  of  things  than  is  the  Anglo-American,  with 
its  restless  self-reliant  energy, 

Nil  actum  reputans  dum  quid  restaret  agendum, 

its  slender  taste  for  introspection  or  meditation.  Never- 
theless even  in  this  people  the  conditions  of  life  and  politics 
have  bred  a  sentiment  or  tendency  which  seems  best  described 
by  the  name  of  fatalism. 

In  small  and  rude  communities,  every  free  man,  or  at  least 
every  head  of  a  household,  feels  his  own  significance  and  real- 
izes his  own  independence.  He  relies  on  himself,  he  is  little 
interfered  with  by  neighbours  or  rulers.^     His  will  and  his 

'  From  The  American  Commonwealth  (1889  Edition),  vol.  ii,  chap.  Ixxxiv, 
pp.  297-306;  copyright.  Reprinted  by  permission  of  the  Macmillan  Com- 
pany. 

^  The  kind  of  self-reliant  attitude  I  am  seeking  to  describe  is  quite  a 
different  thing  from  the  supposed  "state  of  nature"  in  which  a  man  has 


THE   FATALISM  OF  THE  MULTITUDE        391 

action  count  for  something  in  the  conduct  of  the  affairs  of 
the  community  he  belongs  to,  yet  common  affairs  are  few 
compared  to  those  in  which  he  must  depend  on  his  own 
exertions.  The  most  striking  pictures  of  individuahsm  that 
literature  has  preserved  for  us  are  those  of  the  Homeric 
heroes,  and  of  the  even  more  terrible  and  self-reliant  warriors 
of  the  Scandinavian  sagas,  men  like  Ragnar  Lodbrog  and 
Egil,  son  of  Skallagrim,  who  did  not  regard  even  the  gods, 
but  trusted  to  their  own  might  and  main.  In  more  de- 
veloped states  of  society  organized  on  an  oligarchic  basis, 
such  as  were  the  feudal  kingdoms  of  the  Middle  Ages,  or 
in  socially  aristocratic  countries  such  as  most  parts  of  Europe 
have  remained  down  to  our  own  time,  the  bulk  of  the  people 
are  no  doubt  in  a  dependent  condition,  but  each  person  de- 
rives a  certain  sense  of  personal  consequence  from  the  strength 
of  his  group  and  of  the  person  or  family  at  the  head  of  it. 
Moreover,  the  upper  class,  being  the  class  which  thinks  and 
writes,  as  well  as  leads  in  action,  impresses  its  own  type  upon 
the  character  of  the  whole  nation,  and  that  type  is  still  in- 
dividualistic, with  a  strong  consciousness  of  personal  free 
will,  and  a  tendency  for  each  man,  if  not  to  think  for  himself,  at 
least  to  value  and  to  rely  on  his  own  opinion. 

Let  us  suppose,  however,  that  the  aristocratic  structure 
of  society  has  been  dissolved,  that  the  old  groups  have  dis- 
appeared, that  men  have  come  to  feel  themselves  members 
rather  of  the  nation  than  of  classes,  or  groups,  or  communities 
within  the  nation,  that  a  levelling  process  has  destroyed  the 
ascendency  of  birth  and  rank,  that  large  landed  estates  no 
longer  exist,  and  that  many  persons  in  what  was  previously 
the  humbler  class  are  found  possessed  of  property.  Under 
such  conditions  of  social  equality  the  habit  of  intellectual 
command  and  individual  self-confidence  will  have  vanished 

no  legal  relations  with  his  fellows.  It  may  e.xist  among  the  members  of 
a  community  closely  united  by  legal  ties.  It  was  evidently  strong  among 
the  early  Romans,  who  were  united  bj'  such  tics  into  family  and  clan  groups. 


392  JAMES  BRYCE 

from  the  leading  class,  which  creates  the  type  of  national 
character,  and  will  exist  nowhere  in  the  nation. 

Let  us  suppose,  further,  that  political  equality  has  gone 
hand  in  hand  with  the  levelling  down  of  social  eminence. 
Every  citizen  enjoys  the  same  right  of  electing  the  representa- 
tives and  officials,  the  same  right  of  himself  becoming  a  repre- 
sentative or  an  official.  Every  one  is  equally  concerned  in 
the  conduct  of  public  affairs,  and  since  no  man's  opinion, 
however  great  his  superiority  in  wealth,  knowledge,  or  personal 
capacity,  is  legally  entitled  to  any  more  weight  than  another's, 
no  man  is  entitled  to  set  special  value  on  his  own  opinion,  or 
to  expect  others  to  defer  to  it;  for  pretensions  to  authority 
will  be  promptly  resented.  All  disputes  are  referred  to  the 
determination  of  the  majority,  there  being  no  legal  distinction 
between  the  naturally  strong  and  the  naturally  weak,  between 
the  rich  and  the  poor,  between  the  wise  and  the  foolish.  In 
such  a  state  of  things  the  strong  man's  self-confidence  and  sense 
of  individual  force  will  inevitably  have  been  lowered,  because 
he  will  feel  that  he-  is  only  one  of  many,  that  his  vote  or  voice 
counts  for  no  more  than  that  of  his  neighbour,  that  he  can 
prevail,  if  at  all,  only  by  keeping  himself  on  a  level  with  his 
neighbour  and  recognizing  the  latter's  personality  as  being 
every  whit  equal  to  his  own. 

Suppose  further  that  all  this  takes  place  in  an  enormously 
large  and  populous  country,  where  the  governing  voters  are 
counted  by  so  many  millions  that  each  individual  feels  himself 
a  mere  drop  in  the  ocean,  the  influence  which  he  can  exert 
privately,  whether  by  his  personal  gifts  or  by  his  wealth, 
being  confined  to  the  small  circle  of  his  town  or  neighbour- 
hood. On  all  sides  there  stretches  round  him  an  inimitable 
horizon;  and  beneath  the  blue  vault  which  covers  that  horizon 
there  is  everywhere  the  same  busy  multitude  with  its  clamour 
of  mingled  voices  which  he  hears  close  by.  In  this  multitude 
his  own  being  seems  lost.  He  has  the  sense  of  insignificance 
which  overwhelms  us  when  at  night  we  survey  the  host  of 


THE  FATALISM  OF  THE  MULTITUDE        393 

heaven  and  know  that  from  even  the  nearest  star  this  planet 
of  ours  is  invisible. 

In  such  a  country,  where  complete  political  equality  is 
strengthened  and  perfected  by  complete  social  equality, 
where  the  will  of  the  majority  is  absolute,  unquestioned, 
always  invoked  to  decide  every  question,  and  where  the 
numbers  which  decide  are  so  vast  that  one  comes  to  regard 
them  as  one  regards  the  largely  working  forces  of  nature, 
we  may  expect  to  find  certain  feelings  and  beliefs  dominant 
in  the  minds  of  men. 

One  of  these  is  that  the  majority  must  prevail.  All  free 
government  rests  on  this,  for  there  is  no  other  way  of  work- 
ing free  government.  To  obey  the  majority  is  therefore  both 
a  necessity  and  a  duty,  a  duty  because  the  alternative  would 
be  ruin  and  the  breaking-up  of  laws. 

Out  of  this  dogma  there  grows  up  another  which  is  less 
distinctly  admitted,  and  indeed  held  rather  implicitly  than 
consciously,  that  the  majority  is  right.  And  out  of  both  of 
these  there  grows  again  the  feeling,  still  less  consciously  held, 
but  not  less  truly  operative,  that  it  is  vain  to  oppose  or  censure 
the  majority. 

It  may  seem  that  there  is  a  long  step  from  the  first  of  these 
propositions  to  the  second  and  third;  and  that,  in  fact,  the 
very  existence  of  a  minority  striving  with  a  majority  implies 
that  there  must  be  many  who  hold  the  majority  to  be  wrong, 
and  are  prepared  to  resist  it.  Men  do  not  at  once  abandon 
their  views  because  they  have  been  outvoted;  they  reiterate 
their  views,  they  reorganize  their  party,  they  hope  to  prevail, 
and  often  do  prevail  in  a  subsequent  trial  of  strength. 

All  this  is  doubtless  involved  in  the  very  methods  of  popular 
government.  But  it  is  nevertheless  true  that  the  belief  in 
the  rights  of  the  majority  lies  very  near  to  the  belief  that  the 
majority  must  be  right.  As  self-government  is  based  on  the 
idea  that  each  man  is  more  likely  to  be  right  than  to  be  wrong, 
and  that  one  man's  opinion  must  be  treated  as  equally  good 


394  JAMES  BRYCE 

with  another's,  there  is  a  presumption  that  when  twenty 
thousand  vote  one  way  and  twenty-one  thousand  another, 
the  view  of  the  greater  number  is  the  better  view.  The  habit 
of  deference  to  a  decision  actually  given  strengthens  this 
presumption,  and  weaves  it  into  the  texture  of  every  mind. 
A  conscientious  citizen  feels  that  he  ought  to  obey  the  deter- 
mination of  the  majority,  and  naturally  prefers  to  think  that 
which  he  obeys  to  be  right.  A  citizen  languidly  interested 
in  the  question  at  issue  finds  it  easier  to  comply  with  and 
adopt  the  view  of  the  majority  than  to  hold  out  against  it. 
A  small  number  of  men  with  strong  convictions  or  warm 
party  feeling  will  for  a  time  resist.  But  even  they  feel  dif- 
ferently towards  their  cause  after  it  has  been  defeated  from 
what  they  did  while  it  had  still  a  prospect  of  success.  They 
know  that  in  the  same  proportion  in  which  their  supporters 
are  dismayed  the  majority  is  emboldened  and  confirmed  in 
its  views.  It  will  be  harder  to  fight  a  second  battle  than  it 
was  to  fight  the  first,  for  there  is  (so  to  speak)  a  steeper  slope 
of  popular  disapproval  to  be  climbed.  This  sufficiently 
appears  from  the  importance  attached  in  self-governing 
countries  to  test  elections.  In  England  what  is  called  a  "by- 
election,"  i.e.  the  election  of  a  member  of  Parliament  to  fill 
a  casual  vacancy,  is  not  only  taken  by  partisans  as  an  index 
of  their  strength  in  the  nation  at  large,  but  it  if  can  be  regarded 
as  typical,  strengthens  or  weakens  a  party  by  turning  the 
minds  of  waverers.  In  the  United  States,  when  the  elections 
in  any  State  precede  by  a  few  weeks  a  presidential  contest, 
their  effect  has  sometimes  been  so  great  as  virtually  to  deter- 
mine that  contest  by  filling  one  side  with  hope  and  the  other 
with  despondency.  Those  who  prefer  to  swim  with  the  stream 
are  numerous  everywhere,  and  their  votes  have  as  much  weight 
as  the  votes  of  the  keenest  partisans.  A  man  of  convictions 
may  insist  that  the  arguments  on  both  sides  are  after  the 
polling  just  what  they  were  before.  But  the  average  man  will 
repeat  his  arguments  with  less  faith,  less  zeal,  more  of  a  secret 


THE  FATALISM  OF  THE   MULTITUDE        395 

fear  that  he  may  be  wrong,  than  he  did  while  the  majority 
was  still  doubtful;  and  after  every  reassertion  by  the  majority 
of  its  judgment,  his  knees  grow  feebler  till  at  last  they  refuse 
to  carry  him  into  the  combat. 

The  larger  the  scale  on  which  the  majority  works,  the  more 
potent  are  these  tendencies.  When  the  scene  of  action  is  a 
small  commonwealth,  the  individual  voters  are  many  of  them 
personally  known  to  one  another,  and  the  causes  which  de- 
termine their  votes  are  understood  and  discounted.  When 
it  is  a  moderately-sized  country,  the  towns  or  districts  which 
compose  it  are  not  too  numerous  for  reckoning  to  overtake 
and  imagination  to  picture  them,  and  in  many  cases  their 
action  can  be  explained  by  well-known  reasons  which  may  be 
represented  as  transitory.  But  when  the  theatre  stretches 
itself  to  a  continent,  the  number  of  voters  is  counted  by  many 
millions,  the  wings  of  imagination  droop,  and  the  huge  voting 
mass  ceases  to  be  thought  of  as  merely  so  many  individual 
human  beings  no  wiser  or  better  than  one's  own  neighbours. 
The  phenomena  seem  to  pass  into  the  category  of  the  phe- 
nomena of  nature,  governed  by  far-reaching  and  inexorable 
laws  whose  character  science  has  only  imperfectly  ascertained. 
They  inspire  a  sort  of  awe,  a  sense  of  individual  impotence, 
like  that  which  man  feels  when  he  contemplates  the  majestic 
and  eternal  forces  of  the  inanimate  world. 

Such  a  feeling  is  still  far  stronger  when  it  operates,  not  on 
a  cohesive  minority  which  had  lately  hoped,  or  may  yet  hope, 
to  become  a  majority,  but  on  a  single  man  or  small  group  of 
persons  cherishing  some  opinion  which  the  mass  disapproves. 
Thus  out  of  the  mingled  feelings  that  the  multitude  will  pre- 
vail, and  that  the  multitude,  because  it  will  prevail,  must  be 
right,  there  grows  a  self-distrust,  a  despondency,  a  disposition 
to  fall  into  line,  to  acquiesce  in  the  dominant  opinion,  to 
submit  thought  as  well  as  action  to  the  encompassing  power 
of  numbers.  Now  and  then  a  resolute  man  will,  like  Atha- 
nasius,  stand  alone  against  the  world.     But  such  a  man  must 


396  JAMES  BRYCE 

have,  like  Athanasius,  some  special  spring  of  inward  strength; 
and  the  difficulty  of  winning  over  others  against  the  over- 
whelming weight  of  the  multitude  will,  even  in  such  a  man, 
dull  the  edge  of  hope  and  enterprise.  An  individual  seeking 
to  make  his  view  prevail,  looks  forth  on  his  hostile  fellow- 
countrymen  as  a  solitary  swimmer,  raised  high  on  a  billow 
miles  from  land,  looks  over  the  countless  waves  that  divide 
him  from  the  shore,  and  quails  to  think  how  small  the  chance 
that  his  strength  can  bear  him  thither. 

This  tendency  to  acquiescence  and  submission,  this  sense 
of  the  insignificance  of  individual  effort,  this  belief  that  the 
affairs  of  men  are  swayed  by  large  forces  whose  movement 
may  be  studied  but  cannot  be  turned,  I  have  ventured  to 
call  the  Fatalism  of  the  Multitude.  It  is  often  confounded 
with  the  tyranny  of  the  majority,  but  is  at  bottom  different, 
though,  of  course,  its  existence  makes  tyranny  by  the  majority 
easier  and  more  complete.  The  tyranny  of  the  majority 
means,  or  ought  to  mean,  for  it  is  a  phrase  apt  to  be  loosely 
used,  the  disposition  of  the  greater  number  to  unfairly  impose 
their  will  on  the  smaller  number.  A  majority  is  tyrannical 
when  it  cuts  short  the  discussion  needed  to  give  the  minority 
a  fair  chance  of  convincing  it  that  it  is  wrong,  or  when  it 
passes  laws  restricting  individual  freedom  in  matters  which 
law  need  not  touch,  or  even  when  it  subjects  to  social  penalties 
persons  who  disagree  with  it  in  matters  not  essential  to  the 
common  welfare.  But  the  fatalistic  attitude  I  have  been 
seeking  to  describe  does  not  imply  any  exercise  of  power  by 
the  majority  at  all.  It  may  rather  seem  to  soften  and  make 
less  odious  such  an  exercise  of  power,  may  even  dispense  with 
that  exercise,  because  it  disposes  a  minority  to  submit  with- 
out the  need  of  a  command,  to  spontaneously  renounce  its 
own  view  and  fall  in  with  the  view  which  the  majority  has 
expressed.  In  the  fatalism  of  the  multitude  there  is  neither 
legal  nor  moral  compulsion;  there  is  merely  a  loss  of  resisting 
power,  a  diminished  sense  of  personal  responsibility  and  of  the 


THE  FATALISM  OF  THE  MULTITUDE        397 

duty  to  battle  for  one's  own  opinions,  such  as  has  been  bred 
in  some  peoples  by  the  belief  in  an  overmastering  fate.  It  is 
true  that  the  force  to  which  the  citizen  of  the  vast  democracy 
submits  is  a  moral  force,  not  that  of  an  unapproachable  Allah, 
nor  of  the  unchangeable  laws  of  matter.  But  it  is  a  moral 
force  acting  on  so  vast  a  scale,  and  from  causes  so  often  un- 
predictable, that  its  effect  on  the  mind  of  the  individual  may 
well  be  compared  with  that  which  religious  or  scientific  fatalism 
creates. 

No  one  will  suppose  that  the  above  sketch  is  intended  to 
apply  literally  to  the  United  States,  where  in  some  matters 
legal  restrictions  check  a  majority,  where  local  self-govern- 
ment gives  the  humblest  citizen  a  sphere  for  public  action, 
where  individualism  is  still  in  many  forms  and  directions  so 
vigorous.  An  American  explorer,  an  American  settler  in  new 
lands,  an  American  man  of  business  pushing  a  great  enter- 
prise, is  a  being  as  bold  and  resourceful  as  the  world  has  ever 
seen.  All  I  seek  to  convey  is  that  there  are  in  the  United 
States  signs  of  such  a  fatalistic  temper,  signs  which  one  must 
expect  to  find  wherever  a  vast  population  governs  itself  under 
a  system  of  complete  social  and  political  equality.  And 
there  exist  in  the  American  Republic  several  conditions  which 
specially  tend  to  engender  such  a  temper. 

One  of  these  is  the  unbounded  freedom  of  discussion.  Every 
view,  every  line  of  policy,  has  its  fair  chance  before  the  people. 
No  one  can  say  that  audience  has  been  denied  him,  and 
comfort  himself  with  the  hope  that,  when  he  is  heard,  the  world 
will  come  round  to  him.  For  the  sense  of  grievance  and  in- 
justice, which  so  often  feeds  the  flame  of  resistance  in  the 
persecuted  minority,  there  is  less  cause  in  a  country  like  this, 
where  the  freedom  of  the  press,  the  right  of  public  meeting, 
the  right  of  association  and  agitation  have  been  legally  ex- 
tended, and  are  daily  exerted,  more  widely  than  anywhere 
else  in  the  world.  He  whom  the  multitude  condemns  or 
ignores  has  no  further  court  of  appeal  to  look  to.     Rome  has 


398  JAMES  BRYCE 

spoken.  His  cause  has  been  heard  and  judgment  has  gone 
against  him. 

Another  is  the  intense  faith  which  the  Americans  have  in 
the  soundness  of  their  institutions,  and  in  the  future  of  their 
country.  Foreign  critics  have  said  that  they  think  themselves 
the  special  objects  of  the  protecting  care  of  Providence.  If 
this  be  so,  it  is  matter  neither  for  surprise  nor  for  sarcasm. 
They  are  a  religious  people.  They  are  trying,  and  that  on  the 
largest  scale,  the  most  remarkable  experiment  in  government 
the  world  has  yet  witnessed.  They  have  more  than  once 
been  surrounded  by  perils  which  affrighted  the  stoutest 
hearts,  and  they  have  escaped  from  these  perils  into  peace  and 
prosperity.  There  is  among  pious  persons  a  deep  conviction 
—  I  have  often  heard  it  expressed  in  sermons  and  prayers 
with  evident  sincerity  —  that  the  nation  has  been,  and  is 
being,  more  than  other  nations,  guided  by  the  hand  of  God. 
And,  even  when  the  feeling  does  not  take  a  theological  expres- 
sion, the  belief  in  what  is  called  the  " Mission  of  the  Republic" 
for  all  humanity  is'  scarcely  less  ardent.  But  the  foundation 
of  the  Republic  is  confidence  in  the  multitude,  in  its  honesty 
and  good  sense,  in  the  certainty  of  its  arriving  at  right  con- 
clusions. Pessimism  is  the  luxury  of  a  handful;  optimism 
is  the  private  delight,  as  well  as  public  profession,  of  nine 
hundred  and  ninety-nine  out  of  every  thousand,  for  nowhere 
does  the  individual  associate  himself  more  constantly  and 
directly  with  the  greatness  of  his  country. 

Now,  such  a  faith  in  the  people,  and  in  the  forces  that  sway 
them,  disposes  a  man  to  acquiescence  and  submission.  He 
cannot  long  hold  that  he  is  right  and  the  multitude  wrong. 
He  cannot  suppose  that  the  country  will  ultimately  suffer 
because  it  refuses  to  adopt  what  he  urges  upon  it.  As  he 
comes  of  an  energetic  stock,  he  will  use  all  proper  means  to 
state  his  views,  and  give  them  every  chance  of  prevailing. 
But  he  submits  more  readily  than  an  Englishman  would  do, 
ay,  even  to  what  an  Englishman  would  think  an  injury  to 


THE  FATALISM  OF  THE  MULTITUDE        399 

his  private  rights.  When  a  man's  legal  right  has  been  in- 
fringed, he  will  confidently  proceed  to  enforce  at  law  his 
claim  to  redress,  knowing  that  even  against  the  government 
a  just  cause  will  prevail.  But  if  he  fails  at  law,  the  sense  of 
his  individual  insignificance  will  still  his  voice.  It  may  seem 
a  trivial  illustration  to  observe  that  when  a  railway  train  is 
late,  or  a  waggon  drawn  up  opposite  a  warehouse  door  stops 
the  horse-car  for  five  minutes,  the  passengers  take  the  delay 
far  more  coolly  and  uncomplainingly  than  Englishmen  would 
do.  But  the  feeling  is  the  same  as  that  which  makes  good 
citizens  bear  with  the  tyranny  of  Bosses.  It  is  all  in  the 
course  of  nature.  What  is  an  individual  that  he  should  make 
a  fuss  because  he  loses  a  few  minutes,  or  is  taxed  too  highly? 
The  sense  of  the  immense  multitude  around  him  presses  down 
the  individual;  and,  after  all,  he  reflects,  "  things  will  come  out 
right"  in  the  end. 

It  is  hard  adequately  to  convey  the  impression  which  the 
vastness  of  the  country,  and  the  swift  growth  of  its  population 
make  upon  the  European  visitor.  I  well  remember  how  it 
once  came  on  me  after  climbing  a  high  mountain  in  an  Eastern 
State.  All  around  was  thick  forest;  but  the  setting  sun 
lit  up  peaks  sixty  or  seventy  miles  away,  and  flashed  here  and 
there  on  the  windings  of  some  river  past  a  town  so  far  off  as 
to  seem  only  a  spot  of  white.  I  opened  my  map,  a  large  map, 
which  I  had  to  spread  upon  the  rocks  to  examine,  and  tried 
to  make  out,  as  one  would  have  done  in  England  or  Scotland, 
the  points  in  the  view.  The  map  however  was  useless,  be- 
cause the  whole  area  of  the  landscape  beneath  me  covered 
only  two  or  three  square  inches  upon  it.  From  such  a  height 
in  Scotland  the  eye  would  have  ranged  from  sea  to  sea.  But 
here  when  one  tried  to  reckon  how  many  more  equally  wide 
stretches  of  landscape  lay  between  this  peak  and  the  Missis- 
sippi, which  is  itself  only  a  third  of  the  way  across  the  con- 
tinent, the  calculation  seemed  endless  and  was  soon  abandoned. 
Many  an  Englishman  comes  by  middle  life  to  know  nearly 


400  JAMES  BRYCE 

all  England  like  a  glove.  He  has  travelled  on  all  the  great 
railroads;  there  is  hardly  a  large  town  in  which  he  has  not 
acquaintances,  hardly  a  county  whose  scenery  is  not  familiar 
to  him.  But  no  American  can  be  familiar  with  more  than 
a  small  part  of  his  country,  for  his  country  is  a  continent. 
And  all  Americans  live  their  life  through  under  the  sense  of 
this  prodigious  and  daily  growing  multitude  around  them, 
which  seems  vaster  the  more  you  travel,  and  the  more  you 
realize   its   uniformity. 

We  need  not  here  inquire  whether  the  fatalistic  attitude 
I  have  sought  to  sketch  is  the  source  of  more  good  or  evil.  It 
seems  at  any  rate  inevitable:  nor  does  it  fail  to  produce  a 
sort  of  pleasure,  for  what  the  individual  loses  as  an  individ- 
ual he  seems  in  a  measure  to  regain  as  one  of  the  multitude. 
If  the  individual  is  not  strong,  he  is  at  any  rate  as  strong  as 
any  one  else.  His  will  counts  for  as  much  as  any  other  will. 
He  is  overborne  by  no  superiority.  Most  men  are  fitter 
to  make  part  of  the  multitude  than  to  strive  against  it. 
Obedience  is  to  most  sweeter  than  independence;  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  inspires  in  its  children  a  stronger  affection 
than  any  form  of  Protestantism,  for  she  takes  their  souls  in 
charge,  and  assures  them  that,  with  obedience,  all  will  be  well. 

That  which  we  are  presently  concerned  to  note  is  how  greatly 
such  a  tendency  as  I  have  described  facilitates  the  action  of 
opinion  as  a  governing  power,  enabling  it  to  prevail  more 
swiftly  and  more  completely  than  in  countries  where  men  have 
not  yet  learned  to  regard  the  voice  of  the  multitude  as  the 
voice  of  fate.  Many  submit  willingly;  some  unwillingly, 
yet  they  submit.  Rarely  does  any  one  hold  out  and  venture 
to  tell  the  great  majority  of  his  countrymen  that  they  are 
wrong. 

Moreover  public  opinion  acquires  a  solidity  which  strength- 
ens the  whole  body  politic.  Questions  on  which  the  masses 
have  made  up  their  minds  pass  out  of  the  region  of  practical 
discussion.     Controversy  is   confined   to  minor   topics,   and 


THE   FATALISM  OF  THE  MULTITUDE        401 

however  vehemently  it  may  rage  over  these,  it  disturbs  the 
great  underlying  matters  of  agreement  no  more  than  a  tempest 
stirs  the  depths  of  the  Atlantic.  Public  order  becomes  more 
easily  maintained,  because  individuals  and  small  groups  have 
learned  to  submit  even  when  they  feel  themselves  aggrieved. 
The  man  who  murmurs  against  the  world,  who  continues  to 
preach  a  hopeless  cause,  incurs  contempt,  and  is  apt  to  be 
treated  as  a  sort  of  lunatic.  He  who  is  too  wise  to  murmur 
and  too  proud  to  go  on  preaching  to  unheeding  ears,  comes 
to  think  that  if  his  doctrine  is  true,  yet  the  time  is  not  ripe 
for  it.  He  may  be  in  error;  but  if  he  is  right,  the  world  will 
ultimately  see  that  he  is  right  even  without  his  effort.  One 
way  or  another  he  finds  it  hard  to  believe  that  this  vast  mass 
and  force  of  popular  thought  in  which  he  lives  and  moves  can 
be  ultimately  wrong. 

Securus  judical  orbis  terrarum. 


TRAFFIC  1 

John  Ruskin 

My  good  Yorkshire  friends,  you  asked  me  down  here  among 
your  hills  that  I  might  talk  to  you  about  this  Exchange  you 
are  going  to  build:  but  earnestly  and  seriously  asking  you  to 
pardon  me,  I  am  going  to  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  cannot 
talk,  or  at  least  can  say  very  little,  about  this  same  Exchange. 
I  must  talk  of  quite  other  things,  though  not  willingly;  — 
I  could  not  deserve  your  pardon,  if  when  you  invited  me  to 
speak  on  one  subject,  I  wilfully  spoke  on  another.  But  I 
cannot  speak,  to  purpose,  of  anything  about  which  I  do  not 
care;  and  most  simply  and  sorrowfully  I  have  to  tell  you, 
in  the  outset,  that  I  do  not  care  about  this  Exchange  of  yours. 

If,  however,  when  you  sent  me  your  invitation,  I  had 
answered,  "I  won't  come,  I  don't  care  about  the  Exchange 
of  Bradford,"  you  would  have  been  justly  offended  with  me, 
not  knowing  the  reasons  of  so  blunt  a  carelessness.  So  I 
have  come  down,  hoping  that  you  will  patiently  let  me  tell 
you  why,  on  this,  and  many  other  such  occasions,  I  now 
remain  silent,  when  formerly  I  should  have  caught  at  the 
opportunity  of  speaking  to  a  gracious  audience. 

In  a  word,  then,  I  do  not  care  about  this  Exchange,  — 
because  you  don't;  and  because  you  know  perfectly  well  I 
cannot  make  you.  Look  at  the  essential  conditions  of  the 
case,  which  you,  as  business  men,  know  perfectly  well,  though 
perhaps  you  think  I  forget  them.  You  are  going  to  spend 
£30,000,  which  to  you,  collectively,  is  nothing;  the  buying 
a  new  coat  is,  as  to  the  cost  of  it,  a  much  more  important  matter 
of  consideration  to  me  than  building  a  new  Exchange  is  to 

1  Delivered  in  the  Town  Hall,  Bradford,  England. 


TRAFFIC  403 

you.  But  you  think  you  may  as  well  have  the  right  thing 
for  your  money.  You  know  there  are  a  great  many  odd 
styles  of  architecture  about;  you  don't  want  to  do  anything 
ridiculous;  you  hear  of  me,  among  others,  as  a  respectable 
architectural  man-milliner;  and  you  send  for  me,  that  I  may 
tell  you  the  leading  fashion;  and  what  is,  in  our  shops,  for 
the  moment,  the  newest  and  sweetest  thing  in  pinnacles. 

Now,  pardon  me  for  telling  you  frankly,  you  cannot  have 
good  architecture  merely  by  asking  people's  advice  on  occa- 
sion. All  good  architecture  is  the  expression  of  national  life 
and  character;  and  it  is  produced  by  a  prevalent  and  eager 
national  taste,  or  desire  for  beauty.  And  I  want  you  to  think 
a  little  of  the  deep  significance  of  this  word  "taste";  for  no 
statement  of  mine  has  been  more  earnestly  or  oftener  con- 
troverted than  that  good  taste  is  essentially  a  moral  quality. 
"No,"  say  many  of  my  antagonists,  "taste  is  one  thing, 
morality  is  another.  Tell  us  what  is  pretty:  we  shall  be 
glad  to  know  that;  but  we  need  no  sermons  even  were  you 
able  to  preach  them,  which  may  be  doubted." 

Permit  me,  therefore,  to  fortify  this  old  dogma  of  mine  some- 
v/hat.  Taste  is  not  only  a  part  and  an  index  of  morality  — 
it  is  the  ONLY  morality.  The  first,  and  last,  and  closest  trial 
question  to  any  living  creature  is,  "What  do  you  like?" 
Tell  me  what  you  like,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  you  are.  Go 
out  into  the  street,  and  ask  the  first  man  or  woman  you  meet, 
what  their  "taste"  is,  and  if  they  answer  candidly,  you  know 
them,  body  and  soul.  "You,  my  friend  in  the  rags,  with  the 
unsteady  gait,  what  do  you  like?"  "A  pipe  and  a  quartern 
of  gin."  I  know  you.  "You,  good  woman,  with  the  quick 
step  and  tidy  bonnet,  what  do  you  like?"  "A  swept  hearth 
and  a  clean  tea-table,  and  my  husband  opposite  me,  and  a 
baby  at  my  breast."  Good,  I  know  you  also.  "You,  little 
girl  with  the  golden  hair  and  the  soft  eyes,  what  do  you  like?" 
"My  canary,  and  a  run  among  the  wood  hyacinths."  "You, 
little  boy  with  the  dirty  hands  and  the  low  forehead,  what 


404  JOHN  RUSKIN 

do  you  like?"  "A  shy  at  the  sparrows,  and  a  game  at  pitch 
farthing."  Good;  we  know  them  all  now.  What  more 
need  we  ask? 

"Nay,"  perhaps  you  answer:  "we  need  rather  to  ask  what 
these  people  and  children  do,  than  what  they  like.  If  they 
do  right,  it  is  no  matter  that  they  like  what  is  wrong;  and  if 
they  do  wrong,  it  is  no  matter  that  they  like  what  is  right. 
Doing  is  the  great  thing;  and  it  does  not  matter  that  the  man 
likes  drinking,  so  that  he  does  not  drink;  nor  that  the  little 
girl  likes  to  be  kind  to  her  canary,  if  she  will  not  learn  her 
lessons;  nor  that  the  little  boy  likes  throwing  stones  at  the 
sparrows,  if  he  goes  to  the  Sunday  School."  Indeed,  for  a 
short  time,  and  in  a  provisional  sense,  this  is  true.  For  if, 
resolutely,  people  do  what  is  right,  in  time  they  come  to  like 
doing  it.  But  they  only  are  in  a  right  moral  state  when  they 
have  come  to  like  doing  it;  and  as  long  as  they  don't  like  it, 
they  are  still  in  a  vicious  state.  The  man  is  not  in  health 
of  body  who  is  always  thinking  of  the  bottle  in  the  cupboard, 
though  he  bravely  bears  his  thirst;  but  the  man  who  heartily 
enjoys  water  in  the  morning  and  wine  in  the  evening,  each 
in  its  proper  quantity  and  time.  And  the  entire  object  of 
true  education  is  to  make  people  not  merely  do  the  right  things, 
but  enjoy  the  right  things  —  not  merely  industrious,  but  to 
love  industry  —  not  merely  learned,  but  to  love  knowledge 

—  not  merely  pure,  but  to  love  purity  —  not  merely  just, 
but  to  hunger  and  thirst  after  justice. 

But  you  may  answer  or  think,  "Is  the  liking  for  outside 
ornaments,  —  for  pictures,  or  statues,  or  furniture,  or  archi- 
tecture,—  a  moral  quality?"  Yes,  most  surely,  if  a  rightly 
set  liking.  Taste  for  any  pictures  or  statues  is  not  a  moral 
quality,  but  taste  for  good  ones  is.  Only  here  again  we  have 
to  define  the  word  "good."     I  don't  mean  by  "good,"  clever 

—  or  learned  —  or  difficult  in  the  doing.  Take  a  picture  by 
Teniers,  of  sots  quarrelling  over  their  dice:  it  is  an  entirely 
clever  picture;    so  clever  that  nothing  in  its  kind  has  ever 


TRAFFIC  405 

been  done  equal  to  it;  but  it  is  also  an  entirely  base  and 
evil  picture.  It  is  an  expression  of  delight  in  the  prolonged 
contemplation  of  a  vile  thing,  and  delight  in  that  is  an  "un- 
mannered,"  or  "immoral"  quality.  It  is  "bad  taste"  in  the 
profoundest  sense  —  it  is  the  taste  of  the  devils.  On  the 
other  hand,  a  picture  of  Titian's,  or  a  Greek  statue,  or  a 
Greek  coin,  or  a  Turner  landscape,  expresses  delight  in  the 
perpetual  contemplation  of  a  good  and  perfect  thing.  That 
is  an  entirely  moral  quality  —  it  is  the  taste  of  the  angels. 
And  all  delight  in  fine  art,  and  all  love  of  it,  resolve  themselves 
into  simple  love  of  that  which  deserves  love.  That  deserving 
is  the  quality  which  we  call  "loveliness"  —  (we  ought  to  have 
an  opposite  word,  hateliness,  to  be  said  of  the  things  which 
deserve  to  be  hated) ;  and  it  is  not  an  indifferent  nor  optional 
thing  whether  we  love  this  or  that;  but  it  is  just  the  vital 
function  of  all  our  being.  What  we  like  determines  what  we 
are,  and  is  the  sign  of  what  we  are;  and  to  teach  taste  is  in- 
evitably to  form  character. 

As  I  was  thinking  over  this,  in  walking  up  Fleet  Street  the 
other  day,  my  eye  caught  the  title  of  a  book  standing  open  in 
a  book-sisUer's  window.  It  was  —  "On  the  necessity  of  the 
diffusion  of  taste  among  all  classes."  "Ah,"  I  thought  to 
myself,  "my  classifying  friend,  when  you  have  diffused  your 
taste,  v/here  will  your  classes  be?  The  man  who  likes  what 
you  like,  belongs  to  the  same  class  with  you,  I  think.  In- 
evitably so.  You  may  put  him  to  other  work  if  you  choose; 
but,  by  the  condition  you  have  brought  him  into,  he  will 
dislike  the  other  work  as  much  as  you  would  yourself.  You 
get  hold  of  a  scavenger,  or  a  costermonger,  who  enjoyed  the 
Newgate  Calendar  for  literature,  and  'Pop  goes  the  Weasel' 
for  music.  You  think  you  can  make  him  like  Uante  and 
Beethoven?  I  wish  you  joy  of  your  lessons;  but  if  you  do, 
you  have  made  a  gentleman  of  him:  —  he  won't  like  to  go 
back  to  his  costermongcring." 

And  so  completely  and  unexceptionally  is  this  so,  thai,  if 


4o6  JOHN  RUSKIN 

I  had  time  to-night,  I  could  show  you  that  a  nation  cannot 
be  affected  by  any  vice,  or  weakness,  without  expressing  it, 
legibly,  and  forever,  either  in  bad  art,  or  by  want  of  art; 
and  that  there  is  no  national  virtue,  small  or  great,  which  is 
not  manifestly  expressed  in  all  the  art  which  circumstances 
enable  the  people  possessing  that  virtue  to  produce.  Take, 
for  instance,  your  great  English  virtue  of  enduring  and  patient 
courage.  You  have  at  present  in  England  only  one  art  of 
any  consequence  —  that  is,  iron-working.  You  know  thor- 
oughly well  how  to  cast  and  hammer  iron.  Now,  do  you 
think  in  those  masses  of  lava  which  you  build  volcanic  cones 
to  melt,  and  which  you  forge  at  the  mouths  of  the  Infernos 
you  have  created;  do  you  think,  on  those  iron  plates,  your 
courage  and  endurance  are  not  written  forever  —  not  merely 
with  an  iron  pen,  but  on  iron  parchment?  And  take  also  your 
great  English  vice  —  European  vice  —  vice  of  all  the  world 
—  vice  of  all  other  worlds  that  roll  or  shine  in  heaven,  bearing 
with  them  yet  the  atmosphere  of  hell  —  the  vice  of  jealousy, 
which  brings  competition  into  your  commerce,  treachery  into 
your  councils,  and  dishonor  into  your  wars  —  that  vice  which 
has  rendered  for  you,  and  for  your  next  neighboring  nation, 
the  daily  occupations  of  existence  no  longer  possible,  but 
with  the  mail  upon  your  breasts  and  the  sword  loose  in  its 
sheath;  so  that  at  last,  you  have  realized  for  all  the  multi- 
tudes of  the  two  great  peoples  who  lead  the  so-called  civiliza- 
tion of  the  earth,  —  you  have  realized  for  them  all,  I  say,  in 
person  and  in  policy,  what  was  once  true  only  of  the  rough 
Border  riders  of  your  Cheviot  hills  — 

They  carved  at  the  meal 
With  gloves  of  steel, 
And  they  drank  the  red  wine  through  the  helmet  barr'd;  — 

do  you  think  that  this  national  shame  and  dastardliness  of 
heart  are  not  written  as  legibly  on  every  rivet  of  your  iron 
armor  as  the  strength  of  the  right  hands  that  forged  it? 


TRAFFIC  407 

Friends,  I  know  not  whether  this  thing  be  the  more  ludi- 
crous or  the  more  melancholy.  It  is  quite  unspeakably  both. 
Suppose,  instead  of  being  now  sent  for  by  you,  I  had  been 
sent  for  by  some  private  gentleman,  living  in  a  surburban 
house,  with  his  garden  separated  only  by  a  fruit-wall  from 
his  next  door  neighbor's;  and  he  had  called  me  to  consult 
with  him  on  the  furnishing  of  his  drawing-room.  I  begin 
looking  about  me,  and  find  the  walls  rather  bare;  I  think 
such  and  such  a  paper  might  be  desirable  —  perhaps  a  little 
fresco  here  and  there  on  the  ceiling  —  a  damask  curtain  or  so 
at  the  windows.  "Ah,"  says  my  employer,  "damask  curtains, 
indeed!  That's  all  very  fine,  but  you  know  I  can't  afford 
that  kind  of  thing  just  now!"  "Yet  the  world  credits  you 
with  a  splendid  income!"  "Ah,  yes,"  says  my  friend,  "but 
do  you  know,  at  present,  I  am  obliged  to  spend  it  nearly  all  in 
steel-traps?"  "Steel-traps!  for  whom?"  "Why,  for  that 
fellow  on  the  other  side  the  wall,  you  know:  we're  very  good 
friends,  capital  friends;  but  we  are  obliged  to  keep  our  traps 
set  on  both  sides  of  the  wall;  we  could  not  possibly  keep  on 
friendly  terms  without  them,  and  our  spring  guns.  The 
worst  of  it  is,  we  are  both  clever  fellows  enough;  and  there's 
never  a  day  passes  that  we  don't  find  out  a  new  trap,  or  a 
new  gun-barrel,  or  something;  we  spend  about  fifteen  millions 
a  year  each  in  our  traps,  take  it  all  together;  and  I  don't  see 
how  we're  to  do  with  less."  A  highly  comic  state  of  life  for 
two  private  gentlemen!  but  for  two  nations,  it  seems  to  me, 
not  wholly  comic?  Bedlam  would  be  comic,  perhaps,  if  there 
were  only  one  madman  in  it;  and  your  Christmas  pantomime 
is  comic,  when  there  is  only  one  clown  in  it;  but  when  the 
whole  world  turns  clown,  and  paints  itself  red  with  its  own 
heart's  blood  instead  of  vermilion,  it  is  something  else  than 
comic,  I  think. 

Mind,  I  know  a  great  deal  of  this  is  play,  and  willingly 
allow  for  that.  You  don't  know  what  to  do  with  yourselves 
for  a  sensation:    fox-hunting  and   cricketing  will  not  carry 


4o8  JOHN  RUSKIN 

you  through  the  whole  of  this  unendurably  long  mortal  life: 
you  liked  pop-guns  when  you  were  school-boys,  and  rifles 
and  Armstrongs  are  only  the  same  things  better  made:  but 
then  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  what  was  play  to  you  when  boys, 
was  not  play  to  the  sparrows;  and  what  is  play  to  you  now, 
is  not  play  to  the  small  birds  of  State  neither;  and  for  the 
black  eagles,  you  are  somewhat  shy  of  taking  shots  at  them, 
if  I  mistake  not. 

I  must  get  back  to  the  matter  in  hand,  however.  Believe 
me,  without  farther  instance,  I  could  show  you,  in  all  time, 
that  every  nation's  vice,  or  virtue,  was  written  in  its  art: 
the  soldiership  of  early  Greece;  the  sensuality  of  late  Italy; 
the  visionary  religion  of  Tuscany;  the  splendid  human  energy 
and  beauty  of  Venice.  I  have  no  time  to  do  this  to-night 
(I  have  done  it  elsewhere  before  now) ;  but  I  proceed  to  apply 
the  principle  to  ourselves  in  a  more  searching  manner. 

I  notice  that  among  all  the  new  buildings  which  cover 
your  once  wild  hills,  churches  and  schools  are  mixed  in  due, 
that  is  to  say,  in  large  proportion,  with  your  mills  and  man- 
sions; and  I  notice  also  that  the  churches  and  schools  are 
almost  always  Gothic,  and  the  mansions  and  mills  are  never 
Gothic.  Will  you  allow  me  to  ask  precisely  the  meaning  of 
this?  For,  remember,  it  is  peculiarly  a  modern  phenomenon. 
When  Gothic  was  invented,  houses  were  Gothic  as  well  as 
churches;  and  when  the  Italian  style  superseded  the  Gothic, 
churches  were  Italian  as  well  as  houses.  If  there  is  a  Gothic 
spire  to  the  cathedral  of  Antwerp,  there  is  a  Gothic  belfry  to 
the  Hotel  de  Ville  at  Brussels;  if  Inigo  Jones  builds  an  Italian 
Whitehall,  Sir  Christopher  Wren  builds  an  Italian  St.  Paul's. 
But  now  you  live  under  one  school  of  architecture,  and  wor- 
ship under  another.  What  do  you  mean  by  doing  this?  Am 
I  to  understand  that  you  are  thinking  of  changing  your 
architecture  back  to  Gothic;  and  that  you  treat  your  churches 
experimentally,  because  it  does  not  matter  what  mistakes 
you  make  in  a  church?     Or  am  I  to  understand  that  you 


TRAFFIC  409 

consider  Gothic  a  preeminently  sacred  and  beautiful  mode 
of  building,  which  you  think,  like  the  fine  frankincense, 
should  be  mixed  for  the  tabernacle  only,  and  reserved  for  your 
religious  services?  For  if  this  be  the  feeling,  though  it  may 
seem  at  first  as  if  it  were  graceful  and  reverent,  at  the  root 
of  the  matter,  it  signifies  neither  more  nor  less  than  that  you 
have  separated  your  religion  from  your  life. 

For  consider  what  a  wide  significance  this  fact  has;  and 
remember  that  it  is  not  you  only,  but  all  the  people  of  Eng- 
land, who  are  behaving  thus  just  now. 

You  have  all  got  into  the  habit  of  calling  the  church  "the 
house  of  God."  I  have  seen,  over  the  doors  of  many  churches, 
the  legend  actually  carved,  ''This  is  the  house  of  God,  and 
this  is  the  gate  of  heaven."  Now,  note  where  that  legend 
comes  from,  and  of  what  place  it  was  first  spoken.  A  boy 
leaves  his  father's  house  to  go  on  a  long  journey  on  foot,  to 
visit  his  uncle;  he  has  to  cross  a  wild  hill-desert;  just  as  if 
one  of  your  own  boys  had  to  cross  the  wolds  to  visit  an  uncle 
at  Carlisle.  The  second  or  third  day  your  boy  finds  himself 
somewhere  between  Hawes  and  B rough,  in  the  midst  of  the 
moors,  at  sunset.  It  is  stony  ground,  and  boggy;  he  cannot 
go  one  foot  farther  that  night.  Down  he  lies,  to  sleep,  on 
Wharnside,  where  best  he  may,  gathering  a  few  of  the  stones 
together  to  put  under  his  head;  —  so  wild  the  place  is,  he 
cannot  get  anything  but  stones.  And  there,  lying  under  the 
broad  night,  he  has  a  dream;  and  he  sees  a  ladder  set  up  on 
the  earth,  and  the  top  of  it  reaches  to  heaven,  and  the  angels 
of  God  are  seen  ascending  and  descending  upon  it.  And  when 
he  wakes  out  of  his  sleep,  he  says,  "How  dreadful  is  this 
place;  surely,  this  is  none  other  than  the  house  of  God,  and 
this  is  the  gate  of  heaven."  This  place,  observe;  not  this 
church;  not  this  city;  not  this  stone,  even,  which  he  puts  up 
for  a  memorial  —  the  piece  of  flint  on  which  his  head  has  lain. 
But  this  place;  this  windy  slope  of  Wharnside;  this  moorland 
hollow,  torrent-bitten,  snow-blighted;    this  any  place  where 


4IO  JOHN  RUSKIN 

God  lets  down  the  ladder.  And  how  are  you  to  know  where 
that  will  be?  or  how  are  you  to  determine  where  it  may  be, 
but  by  being  ready  for  it  always?  Do  you  know  where  the 
lightning  is  to  fall  next?  You  do  know  that,  partly;  you  can 
guide  the  lightning;  but  you  cannot  guide  the  going  forth  of 
the  Spirit,  which  is  as  that  lightning  when  it  shines  from  the 
east  to  the  west. 

But  the  perpetual  and  insolent  warping  of  that  strong 
verse  to  serve  a  merely  ecclesiastical  purpose,  is  only  one  of 
the  thousand  instances  in  which  we  sink  back  into  gross 
Judaism.  We  call  our  churches  "temples."  Now,  you  know 
perfectly  well  they  are  not  temples.  They  have  never  had, 
never  can  have,  anything  whatever  to  do  with  temples. 
They  are  "synagogues"  —  "gathering  places"  —  where  you 
gather  yourselves  together  as  an  assembly;  and  by  not  calling 
them  so,  you  again  miss  the  force  of  another  mighty  text  — 
"Thou,  when  thou  prayest,  shalt  not  be  as  the  hypocrites  are; 
for  they  love  to  pray  standing  in  the  churches  ^^  [we  should 
translate  it],  "that  they  may  be  seen  of  men.  But  thou, 
when  thou  prayest,  enter  into  thy  closet,  and  when  thou  hast 
shut  thy  door,  pray  to  thy  Father,"  —  which  is,  not  in  chancel 
nor  in  aisle,  but  "in  secret." 

Now,  you  feel,  as  I  say  this  to  you  —  I  know  you  feel  — 
as  if  I  were  trying  to  take  away  the  honor  of  your  churches. 
Not  so;  I  am  trying  to  prove  to  you  the  honor  of  your  houses 
and  your  hills;  not  that  the  Church  is  not  sacred  —  but  that 
the  whole  Earth  is.  I  would  have  you  feel,  what  careless, 
what  constant,  what  infectious  sin  there  is  in  all  modes  of 
thought,  whereby,  in  calling  your  churches  only  "holy,"  you 
call  your  hearths  and  homes  "profane";  and  have  separated 
yourselves  from  the  heathen  by  casting  all  your  household 
gods  to  the  ground,  instead  of  recognizing,  in  the  place  of 
their  many  and  feeble  Lares,  the  presence  of  your  One  and 
Mighty  Lord  and  Lar. 

"But  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  our  Exchange?"  you 


TRAFFIC  411 

ask  me,  impatiently.  My  dear  friends,  it  has  just  every- 
thing to  do  with  it;  on  these  inner  and  great  questions  depend 
all  the  outer  and  little  ones;  and  if  you  have  asked  me  down 
here  to  speak  to  you,  because  you  had  before  been  interested 
in  anything  I  have  written,  you  must  know  that  all  I  have 
yet  said  about  architecture  was  to  show  this.  The  book  I 
called  "The  Seven  Lamps"  was  to  show  that  certain  right 
states  of  temper  and  moral  feeling  were  the  magic  powers  by 
which  all  good  architecture,  without  exception,  had  been 
produced.  "The  Stones  of  Venice"  had,  from  beginning 
to  end,  no  other  aim  than  to  show  that  the  Gothic  architec- 
ture of  Venice  had  arisen  out  of,  and  indicated  in  all  its 
features,  a  state  of  pure  national  faith,  and  of  domestic  virtue; 
and  that  its  Renaissance  architecture  had  arisen  out  of,  and 
in  all  its  features  indicated,  a  state  of  concealed  national 
infidelity,  and  of  domestic  corruption.  And  now,  you  ask 
me  what  style  is  best  to  build  in;  and  how  can  I  answer, 
knowing  the  meaning  of  the  two  styles,  but  by  another  ques- 
tion —  do  you  mean  to  build  as  Christians  or  as  Infidels? 
And  still  more  —  do  you  mean  to  build  as  honest  Christians 
or  as  honest  Infidels?  as  thoroughly  and  confessedly  either 
one  or  the  other?  You  don't  like  to  be  asked  such  rude 
questions.  I  cannot  help  it;  they  are  of  much  more  impor- 
tance than  this  Exchange  business;  and  if  they  can  be  at 
once  answered,  the  Exchange  business  settles  itself  in  a 
moment.  But,  before  I  press  them  farther,  I  must  ask  leave 
to  explain  one  point  clearly. 

In  all  my  past  work,  my  endeavor  has  been  to  show  that 
good  architecture  is  essentially  religious  —  the  production 
of  a  faithful  and  virtuous,  not  of  an  infidel  and  corrupted, 
people.  But  in  the  course  of  doing  this,  I  have  had  also  to 
show  that  good  architecture  is  not  ecclesiastical.  People  are 
so  apt  to  look  upon  religion  as  the  business  of  the  clergy,  not 
their  own,  that  the  moment  they  hear  of  anything  depending 
on  "religion,"  they  think  it  must  also  have  depended  on  the 


412  JOHN  RUSKIN 

priesthood;  and  I  have  had  to  take  what  place  was  to  be 
occupied  between  these  two  errors,  and  fight  both,  often  with 
seeming  contradiction.  Good  architecture  is  the  work  of 
good  and  believing  men;  therefore,  you  say,  at  least  some 
people  say,  "Good  architecture  must  essentially  have  been 
the  work  of  the  clergy,  not  of  the  laity."  No  —  a  thousand 
times  no;  good  architecture  ^  has  always  been  the  work  of 
the  commonalty,  not  of  the  clergy.  What,  you  say,  those 
glorious  cathedrals  —  the  pride  of  Europe  —  did  their  builders 
not  form  Gothic  architecture?  No;  they  corrupted  Gothic 
architecture.  Gothic  was  formed  in  the  baron's  castle,  and 
the  burgher's  street.  It  was  formed  by  the  thoughts,  and 
hands,  and  powers  of  free  citizens  and  warrior  kings.  By 
the  monk  it  was  used'  as  an  instrument  for  the  aid  of  his 
superstition;  when  that  superstition  became  a  beautiful 
madness,  and  the  best  hearts  of  Europe  vainly  dreamed  and 
pined  in  the  cloister,  and  vainly  raged  and  perished  in  the 
crusade  —  through  that  fury  of  perverted  faith  and  wasted 
war,  the  Gothic  rose  also  to  its  loveliest,  most  fantastic,  and, 
finally,  most  foolish  dreams;    and,  in  those  dreams,  was  lost. 

I  hope,  now,  that  there  is  no  risk  of  your  misunderstanding 
me  when  I  come  to  the  gist  of  what  I  want  to  say  to-night;  — 
when  I  repeat,  that  every  great  national  architecture  has 
been  the  result  and  exponent  of  a  great  national  religion. 
You  can't  have  bits  of  it  here,  bits  there  —  you  must  have 
it  everywhere,  or  nowhere.  It  is  not  the  monopoly  of  a 
clerical  company  —  it  is  not  the  exponent  of  a  theological 
dogma  —  it  is  not  the  hieroglyphic  writing  of  an  initiated 
priesthood;  it  is  the  manly  language  of  a  people  inspired  by 
resolute  and  common  purpose,  and  rendering  resolute  and 
common  fidelity  to  the  legible  laws  of  an  undoubted  God. 

Now,  there  have  as  yet  been  three  distinct  schools  of  Euro- 
pean  architecture.     I    say,    European,    because   Asiatic   and 

1  And  all  other  arts,  for  the  most  part;  even  of  incredulous  and  secu- 
larly-minded commonalties. 


TRAFFIC  413 

African  architectures  belong  so  entirely  to  other  races  and 
climates,  that  there  is  no  question  of  them  here;  only,  in 
passing,  I  will  simply  assure  you  that  whatever  is  good  or 
great  in  Egypt,  and  Syria,  and  India,  is  just  good  or  great  for 
the  same  reasons  as  the  buildings  on  our  side  of  the  Bosphorus. 
We  Europeans,  then,  have  had  three  great  religions:  the  Greek, 
which  was  the  worship  of  the  God  of  Wisdom  and  Power; 
the  Mediaeval,  which  was  the  Worship  of  the  God  of  Judg- 
ment and  Consolation;  the  Renaissance,  which  was  the 
worship  of  the  God  of  Pride  and  Beauty;  these  three  we  have 
had,  —  they  are  past,  —  and  now,  at  last,  we  English  have 
got  a  fourth  religion,  and  a  God  of  our  own,  about  which  I 
want  to  ask  you.  But  I  must  explain  these  three  old  ones 
first. 

I  repeat,  first,  the  Greeks  essentially  worshipped  the  God 
of  Wisdom;   so  that  whatever  contended  against  their  religion 

—  to   the   Jews   a   stumbling   block  —  was,    to   the    Greeks, 

—  Foolishness. 

The  first  Greek  idea  of  Deity  was  that  expressed  in  the 
word,  of  which  we  keep  the  remnant  in  our  words  "Z)i-urnal" 
and  "jDi-vine"  —  the  god  of  Day,  Jupiter  the  revealer. 
Athena  is  his  daughter,  but  especially  daughter  of  the  Intel- 
lect, springing  armed  from  the  head.  We  are  only  with  the 
help  of  recent  investigation  beginning  to  penetrate  the  depth 
of  meaning  couched  under  the  Athenaic  symbols:  but  I  may 
note  rapidly,  that  her  aegis,  the  mantle  with  the  serpent 
fringes,  in  which  she  often,  in  the  best  statues,  is  represented 
as  folding  up  her  left  hand  for  better  guard,  and  the  Gorgon 
on  her  shield,  are  both  representative  mainly  of  the  chilling 
horror  and  sadness  (turning  men  to  stone,  as  it  were),  of  the 
outmost  and  superficial  spheres  of  knowledge  —  that  knowl- 
edge which  separates,  in  bitterness,  hardness,  and  sorrow, 
the  heart  of  the  full-grown  man  from  the  heart  of  the  child. 
For  out  of  imperfect  knowledge  spring  terror,  dissension, 
danger,  and  disdain;  but  from  perfect  knowledge,  given  by  the 


414  JOHN  RUSKIN 

full-revealed  Athena,  strength  and  peace,  in  sign  of  which  she 
is  crowned  with  the  olive  spray,  and  bears  the  resistless  spear. 

This,  then,  was  the  Greek  conception  of  purest  Deity,  and 
every  habit  of  life,  and  every  form  of  his  art  developed  them- 
selves from  the  seeking  this  bright,  serene,  resistless  wisdom; 
and  setting  himself,  as  a  man,  to  do  things  evermore  rightly 
and  strongly;  ^  not  with  any  ardent  affection  or  ultimate 
hope;  but  with  a  resolute  and  continent  energy  of  will,  as 
knowing  that  for  failure  there  was  no  consolation,  and  for 
sin  there  was  no  remission.  And  the  Greek  architecture  rose 
unerring,  bright,  clearly  defined,  and  self-contained. 

Next  followed  in  Europe  the  great  Christian  faith,  which 
was  essentially  the  religion  of  Comfort.  Its  great  doctrine 
is  the  remission  of  sins;  for  which  cause  it  happens,  too  often, 
in  certain  phases  of  Christianity,  that  sin  and  sickness  them- 
selves are  partly  glorified,  as  if,  the  more  you  had  to  be  healed 
of,  the  more  divine  was  the  healing.  The  practical  result  of 
this  doctrine,  in  art,  is  a  continual  contemplation  of  sin  and 
disease,  and  of  imaginary  states  of  purification  from  them; 
thus  we  have  an  architecture  conceived  in  a  mingled  sentiment 
of  melancholy  and  aspiration,  partly  severe,  partly  luxuriant, 
which  will  bend  itself  to  every  one  of  our  needs,  and  every 
one  of  our  fancies,  and  be  strong  or  weak  with  us,  as  we  are 
strong  or  weak  ourselves.  It  is,  of  all  architecture,  the 
basest,  when  base  people  build  it  —  of  all,  the  noblest,  when 
built  by  the  noble. 

1  It  is  an  error  to  suppose  that  the  Greek  worship,  or  seeking,  was  chiefly 
of  Beauty.  It  was  essentially  of  Rightness  and  Strength,  founded  on 
Forethought:  the  principal  character  of  Greek  art  is  not  Beauty,  but 
design:  and  the  Dorian  Apollo-worship  and  Athenian  Virgin- worship  are 
both  expressions  of  adoration  of  divine  Wisdom  and  Purity.  Next  to  these 
great  deities  rank,  in  power  over  the  national  mind,  Dionysus  and  Ceres, 
the  givers  of  human  strength  and  Ufe:  then,  for  heroic  example,  Hercules. 
There  is  no  Venus- worship  among  the  Greeks  in  the  great  times:  and  the 
Muses  are  essentially  teachers  of  Truth,  and  of  its  harmonies.  Compare 
Aralra  Pentelici,  §  200. 


TRAFFIC  415 

And  now  note  that  both  these  religions  —  Greek  and 
Mediaeval  —  perished  by  falsehood  in  their  own  main  pur- 
pose. The  Greek  religion  of  Wisdom  perished  in  a  false 
philosophy  —  "Oppositions  of  science,  falsely  so  called." 
The  Mediaeval  religion  of  Consolation  perished  in  false  com- 
fort; in  remission  of  sins  given  lyingly.  It  was  the  selling 
of  absolution  that  ended  the  Mediaeval  faith;  and  I  can  tell 
you  more,  it  is  the  selling  of  absolution  which,  to  the  end  of 
time,  will  mark  false  Christianity,  Pure  Christianity  gives 
her  remission  of  sins  only  by  ending  them;  but  false  Christi- 
anity gets  her  remission  of  sins  by  compounding  for  them. 
And  there  are  many  ways  of  compounding  for  them.  We 
English  have  beautiful  little  quiet  ways  of  buying  absolution, 
whether  in  low  Church  or  high,  far  more  cunning  than  any  of 
Tetzel's  trading. 

Then,  thirdly,  there  followed  the  religion  of  Pleasure,  in 
which  all  Europe  gave  itself  to  luxury,  ending  in  death.  First, 
bals  masques  in  every  saloon,  and  then  guillotines  in  every 
square.  And  all  these  three  worships  issue  in  vast  temple 
building.  Your  Greek  worshipped  Wisdom,  and  built  you 
the  Parthenon  —  the  Virgin's  temple.  The  Medifeval  wor- 
shipped Consolation,  and  built  you  Virgin  temples  also  — 
but  to  our  Lady  of  Salvation.  Then  the  Revivalist  worshipped 
beauty,  of  a  sort,  and  built  you  Versailles,  and  the  Vatican. 
Now,  lastly,  will  you  tell  me  what  we  worship,  and  what  we 
build? 

You  know  we  are  speaking  always  of  the  real,  active, 
continual,  national  worship;  that  by  which  men  act  while 
they  live;  not  that  which  they  talk  of  when  they  die.  Now, 
we  have,  indeed,  a  nominal  religion,  to  which  we  pay  tithes 
of  property  and  sevenths  of  time;  but  we  have  also  a  practical 
and  earnest  religion,  to  which  we  devote  nine-tenths  of  our 
property  and  six-sevenths  of  our  time.  And  we  dispute  a 
great  deal  about  the  nominal  rcHgion;  but  we  are  all  unani- 
mous  about    this    practical  one,   of    which    I   think   you   will 


41 6  JOHN  RUSKIN 

admit  that  the  ruling  goddess  may  be  best  generally  described 
as  the  "  Goddess  of  Getting-on,"  or  "  Britannia  of  the  Market." 
The  Athenians  had  an  "Athena  Agoraia,"  or  Athena  of  the 
Market;  but  she  was  a  subordinate  type  of  their  goddess, 
while  our  Britannia  Agoraia  is  the  principal  type  of  ours. 
And  all  your  great  architectural  works,  are,  of  course,  built  to 
her.  It  is  long  since  you  built  a  great  cathedral;  and  how 
you  would  laugh  at  me,  if  I  proposed  building  a  cathedral  on 
the  top  of  one  of  these  hills  of  yours,  to  make  it  an  Acropolis! 
But  your  railroad  mounds,  vaster  than  the  walls  of  Babylon; 
your  railroad  stations,  vaster  than  the  temple  of  Ephesus, 
and  innumerable;  your  chimneys  how  much  more  mighty  and 
costly  than  cathedral  spires!  your  harbor  piers;  your  ware- 
houses; your  exchanges!  —  all  these  are  built  to  your  great 
Goddess  of  "Getting-on";  and  she  has  formed,  and  will 
continue  to  form,  your  architecture,  as  long  as  you  worship 
her;  and  it  is  quite  vain  to  ask  me  to  tell  you  how  to  build  to 
her;  you  know  far  better  than  I. 

There  might  indeed,  on  some  theories,  be  a  conceivably 
good  architecture  for  Exchanges  —  that  is  to  say,  if  there 
were  any  heroism  in  the  fact  or  deed  of  exchange,  which 
might  be  typically  carved  on  the  outside  of  your  building. 
For,  you  know,  all  beautiful  architecture  must  be  adorned 
with  sculpture  or  painting;  and  for  sculpture  or  painting, 
you  must  have  a  subject.  And  hitherto  it  has  been  a  received 
opinion  among  the  nations  of  the  world  that  the  only  right 
subjects  for  either,  were  heroisms  of  some  sort.  Even  on  his 
pots  and  his  flagons,  the  Greek  put  a  Hercules  slaying  lions, 
or  an  Apollo  slaying  serpents,  or  Bacchus  slaying  melancholy 
giants,  and  earth-born  despondencies.  On  his  temples,  the 
Greek  put  contests  of  great  warriors  in  founding  states,  or  of 
gods  with  evil  spirits.  On  his  houses  and  temples  alike,  the 
Christian  put  carvings  of  angels  conquering  devils;  or  of  hero- 
martyrs  exchanging  this  world  for  another;  subject  inappro- 
priate, I  think,  to  our  direction  of  exchange  here.     And  the 


TRAFFIC  417 

Master  of  Christians  not  only  left  his  followers  without  any 
orders  as  to  the  sculpture  of  affairs  of  exchange  on  the  outside 
of  buildings,  but  gave  some  strong  evidence  of  his  dislike  of 
affairs  of  exchange  within  them.  And  yet  there  might  surely 
be  a  heroism  in  such  affairs ;  and  all  commerce  become  a  kind 
of  selling  of  doves,  not  impious.  The  wonder  has  always 
been  great  to  me,  that  heroism  has  never  been  supposed  to  be 
in  any  wise  consistent  with  the  practice  of  supplying  people 
with  food,  or  clothes;  but  rather  with  that  of  quartering  one's 
self  upon  them  for  food,  and  stripping  them  of  their  clothes. 
Spoiling  of  armor  is  an  heroic  deed  in  all  ages;  but  the  selling 
of  clothes,  old  or  new,  has  never  taken  any  color  of  mag- 
nanimity. Yet  one  does  not  see  why  feeding  the  hungry  and 
clothing  the  naked  should  ever  become  base  businesses,  even 
when  engaged  in  on  a  large  scale.  If  one  could  contrive  to 
attach  the  notion  of  conquest  to  them  anyhow!  so  that, 
supposing  there  were  anywhere  an  obstinate  race,  who  refused 
to  be  comforted,  one  might  take  some  pride  in  giving  them 
compulsory  comfort!  ^  and  as  it  were,  "occupying  a  country" 
with  one's  gifts,  instead  of  one's  armies?  If  one  could  only 
consider  it  as  much  a  victory  to  get  a  barren  field  sown,  as  to 
get  an  eared  field  stripped;  and  contend  who  should  build 
villages,  instead  of  who  should  ''carry"  them!  Are  not  all 
forms  of  heroism,  conceivable  in  doing  these  serviceable  deeds? 
You  doubt  who  is  strongest?  It  might  be  ascertained  by  push 
of  spade,  as  well  as  push  of  sword.  Who  is  wisest?  There 
are  witty  things  to  be  thought  of  in  planning  other  business 
than  campaigns.  Who  is  bravest?  There  are  always  the 
elements  to  fight  with,  stronger  than  men;  and  nearly  as 
merciless. 

The  only  absolutely  and  unapproachably  heroic  element  in 

the  soldier's  work  seems  to  be  —  that  he  is  paid  little  for  it  — 

and   regularly:    while  you   traffickers,   and   exchangers,   and 

others  occupied  in  presumably  benevolent  business,  like  to 

1  Quite  serious,  all  this,  though  it  reads  like  jest. 


4i8  JOHN  RUSKIN 

be  paid  much  for  it  —  and  by  chance.  I  never  can  make 
out  how  it  is  that  a  knight-erra.nt  does  not  expect  to  be  paid 
for  his  trouble,  but  a  pedler-erra,nt  always  does;  —  that  people 
are  willing  to  take  hard  knocks  for  nothing,  but  never  to  sell 
ribands  cheap;  —  that  they  are  ready  to  go  on  fervent  crusades 
to  recover  the  tomb  of  a  buried  God,  but  never  on  any  travels 
to  fulfil  the  orders  of  a  living  one;  —  that  they  will  go  any- 
where barefoot  to  preach  their  faith,  but  must  be  well  bribed 
to  practise  it,  and  are  perfectly  ready  to  give  the  Gospel 
gratis,  but  never  the  loaves  and  fishes.^ 

If  you  chose  to  take  the  matter  up  on  any  such  soldierly 
principle,  to  do  your  commerce,  and  your  feeding  of  nations, 
for  fixed  salaries;  and  to  be  as  particular  about  giving  people 
the  best  food,  and  the  best  cloth,  as  soldiers  are  about  giving 
them  the  best  gunpowder,  I  could  carve  something  for  you  on 
your  exchange  worth  looking  at.  But  I  can  only  at  present 
suggest  decorating  its  frieze  with  pendent  purses;  and  making 
its  pillars  broad  at  the  base,  for  the  sticking  of  bills.  And  in 
the  innermost  chambers  of  it  there  might  be  a  statue  of 
Britannia  of  the  Market,  who  may  have,  perhaps  advisably, 
a  partridge  for  her  crest,  typical  at  once  of  her  courage  in 
fighting  for  noble  ideas,  and  of  her  interest  in  game;  and 
round  its  neck  the  inscription  in  golden  letters,  "Perdix  fovit 
quae  non  peperit."  ^  Then,  for  her  spear,  she  might  have 
a  weaver's  beam;  and  on  her  shield,  instead  of  St.  George's 
Cross,  the  Milanese  boar,  semi-fleeced,  with  the  town  of 
Gennesaret  proper,  in  the  field,  and  the  legend  "In  the  best 
market,"  ^  and  her  corselet,  of  leather,  folded  over  her  heart 

^  Please  think  over  this  paragraph,  too  briefly  and  antithetically  put, 
but  one  of  those  which  I  am  happiest  in  having  written. 

2  Jerem.  xvii.  ii  (best  in  Septuagint  and  Vulgate).  "As  the  partridge, 
fostering  what  she  brought  not  forth,  so  he  that  getteth  riches,  not  by 
right  shall  leave  them  in  the  midst  of  his  days,  and  at  his  end  shall  be  a 
fool." 

'  Meaning  fully,  "We  have  brought  our  pigs  to  it." 


TRAFFIC  419 

in  the  shape  of  a  purse,  with  thirty  slits  in  it  for  a  piece  of 
money  to  go  in  at,  on  each  day  of  the  month.  And  I  doubt 
not  but  that  people  would  come  to  see  your  exchange,  and  its 
goddess,  with  applause. 

Nevertheless,  I  want  to  point  out  to  you  certain  strange 
characters  in  this  goddess  of  yours.  She  differs  from  the 
great  Greek  and  Mediaeval  deities  essentially  in  two  things  — 
first,  as  to  the  continuance  of  her  presumed  power;  secondly, 
as  to  the  extent  of  it. 

ist,  as  to  the  Continuance. 

The  Greek  Goddess  of  Wisdom  gave  continual  increase  of 
wisdom,  as  the  Christian  Spirit  of  Comfort  (or  Comforter) 
continual  increase  of  comfort.  There  was  no  question,  with 
these,  of  any  limit  or  cessation  of  function.  But  with  your 
Agora  Goddess,  that  is  just  the  most  important  question. 
Getting  on  —  but  where  to?  Gathering  together  —  but 
how  much?  Do  you  mean  to  gather  always  —  never  to 
spend?  If  so,  I  wish  you  joy  of  your  goddess,  for  I  am  just 
as  well  off  as  you,  without  the  trouble  of  worshipping  her  at 
all.  But  if  you  do  not  spend,  somebody  else  will  —  some- 
body else  must.  And  it  is  because  of  this  (among  many 
other  such  errors)  that  I  have  fearlessly  declared  your  so- 
called  science  of  Political  Economy  to  be  no  science;  because, 
namely,  it  has  omitted  the  study  of  exactly  the  most  im- 
portant branch  of  the  business  —  the  study  of  spending. 
For  spend  you  must,  and  as  much  as  you  make,  ultimately. 
You  gather  corn:  —  will  you  bury  England  under  a  heap  of 
grain;  or  will  you,  when  you  have  gathered,  finally  eat? 
You  gather  gold:  —  will  you  make  your  house-roofs  of  it,  or 
pave  your  streets  with  it?  That  is  still  one  way  of  spending 
it.  But  if  you  keep  it,  that  you  may  get  more,  I'll  give  you 
more;  I'll  give  you  all  the  gold  you  want  —  all  you  can 
imagine  —  if  you  can  tell  me  what  you'll  do  with  it.  You 
shall  have  thousands  of  gold  pieces;  —  thousands  of  thou- 
sands —  millions  —  mountains,  of  gold :    where  will  you  keep 


420  JOHN  RUSKIN 

them?  Will  you  put  an  Olympus  of  silver  upon  a  golden 
Pelion  —  make  Ossa  like  a  wart?  Do  you  think  the  rain  and 
dew  would  then  come  down  to  you,  in  the  streams  from  such 
mountains,  more  blessedly  than  they  will  down  the  moun- 
tains which  God  has  made  for  you,  of  moss  and  whinstone? 
But  it  is  not  gold  that  you  want  to  gather!  What  is  it? 
greenbacks?  No;  not  those  neither.  What  is  it  then  — 
is  it  ciphers  after  a  capital  I?  Cannot  you  practise  writing 
ciphers,  and  write  as  many  as  you  want?  Write  ciphers  for 
an  hour  every  morning,  in  a  big  book,  and  say  every  evening, 
I  am  worth  all  those  noughts  more  than  I  was  yesterday. 
Won't  that  do?  Well,  what  in  the  name  of  Plutus  is  it  you 
want?  Not  gold,  not  greenbacks,  not  ciphers  after  a  capital 
I?  You  will  have  to  answer,  after  all,  "No;  we  want,  some- 
how or  other,  money's  worth.^'  Well,  what  is  that?  Let  your 
Goddess  of  Getting-on  discover  it,  and  let  her  learn  to  stay 
therein. 

II.  But  there  is  yet  another  question  to  be  asked  respecting 
this  Goddess  of  Getting-on.  The  first  was  of  the  continuance 
of  her  power;   the  second  is  of  its  extent. 

Pallas  and  the  Madonna  were  supposed  to  be  all  the  world's 
Pallas,  and  all  the  world's  Madonna.  They  could  teach  all 
men,  and  they  could  comfort  all  men.  But,  look  strictly 
into  the  nature  of  the  power  of  your  Goddess  of  Getting-on; 
and  you  will  find  she  is  the  Goddess  —  not  of  everybody's 
getting  on  —  but  only  of  somebody's  getting  on.  This  is  a 
vital,  or  rather  deathful,  distinction.  Examine  it  in  your 
own  ideal  of  the  state  of  national  life  which  this  Goddess  is 
to  evoke  and  maintain.  I  asked  you  what  it  was,  when  I 
was  last  here;^  —  you  have  never  told  me.  Now,  shall  I 
try  to  tell  you? 

Your  ideal  of  human  life  then  is,  I  think,  that  it  should  be 
passed  in  a  pleasant  undulating  world,  with  iron  and  coal 

^  The  Two  Paths,  p.  115  (small  edition),  and  p.  99  of  vol.  x.  of  the 
Revised  Series  of  the  Entire  Works. 


TRAFFIC  421 

everywhere  underneath  it.  On  each  pleasant  bank  of  this 
world  is  to  be  a  beautiful  mansion,  with  two  wings;  and 
stables,  and  coach-houses;  a  moderately  sized  park;  a  large 
garden  and  hot-houses;  and  pleasant  carriage  drives  through 
the  shrubberies.  In  this  mansion  are  to  live  the  favored 
votaries  of  the  Goddess;  the  English  gentleman,  with  his 
gracious  wife,  and  his  beautiful  family;  always  able  to  have 
the  boudoir  and  the  jewels  for  the  wife,  and  the  beautiful 
ball  dresses  for  the  daughters,  and  hunters  for  the  sons,  and  a 
shooting  in  the  Highlands  for  himself.  At  the  bottom  of 
the  bank,  is  to  be  the  mill;  not  less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
long,  with  a  steam  engine  at  each  end,  and  two  in  the  middle, 
and  a  chimney  three  hundred  feet  high.  In  this  mill  are  to  be 
in  constant  employment  from  eight  hundred  to  a  thousand 
workers,  who  never  drink,  never  strike,  always  go  to  church 
on  Sunday,  and  always  express  themselves  in  respectful 
language. 

Is  not  that,  broadly,  and  in  the  main  features,  the  kind  of 
thing  you  propose  to  yourselves?  It  is  very  pretty  indeed, 
seen  from  above;  not  at  all  so  pretty,  seen  from  below.  For, 
observe,  while  to  one  family  this  deity  is  indeed  the  Goddess 
of  Getting-on,  to  a  thousand  families  she  is  the  Goddess 
of  not  Getting-on.  "Nay,"  you  say,  "they  have  all  their 
chance."  Yes,  so  has  every  one  in  a  lottery,  but  there  must 
always  be  the  same  number  of  blanks.  "Ah!  but  in  a  lottery 
it  is  not  skill  and  intelligence  which  take  the  lead,  but  blind 
chance."  What  then!  do  you  think  the  old  practice,  that 
"  they  should  take  who  have  the  power,  and  they  should  keep 
who  can,"  is  less  iniquitous,  when  the  power  has  become 
power  of  brains  instead  of  fist?  and  that,  though  we  may  not 
take  advantage  of  a  child's  or  a  woman's  weakness,  we  may 
of  a  man's  foolishness?  "Nay,  but  finally,  work  must  be 
done,  and  some  one  must  be  at  the  top,  some  one  at  the 
bottom."  Granted,  my  friends.  Work  must  always  be, 
and  captains  of  work  must  always  be;   and  if  you  in  the  least 


422  JOHN  RUSKIN 

remember  the  tone  of  any  of  my  writings,  you  must  know 
that  they  are  thought  unfit  for  this  age,  because  they  are 
always  insisting  on  need  of  government,  and  speaking  with 
scorn  of  Hberty.  But  I  beg  you  to  observe  that  there  is  a 
wide  difference  between  being  captains  or  governors  of  work, 
and  taking  the  profits  of  it.  It  does  not  follow,  because  you 
are  general  of  an  army,  that  you  are  to  take  all  the  treasure, 
or  land,  it  wins  (if  it  fight  for  treasure  or  land);  neither, 
because  you  are  king  of  a  nation,  that  you  are  to  consume  all 
the  profits  of  the  nation's  work.  Real  kings,  on  the  contrary, 
are  known  invariably  by  their  doing  quite  the  reverse  of 
this,  —  by  their  taking  the  least  possible  quantity  of  the  na- 
tion's work  for  themselves.  There  is  no  test  of  real  kinghood 
so  infallible  as  that.  Does  the  crowned  creature  live  simply, 
bravely,  unostentatiously?  probably  he  is  a  King.  Does  he 
cover  his  body  with  jewels,  and  his  table  with  delicates?  in 
all  probability  he  is  not  a  King.  It  is  possible  he  may  be,  as 
Solomon  was;  but  that  is  when  the  nation  shares  his  splendor 
with  him.  Solomon  made  gold,  not  only  to  be  in  his  own 
palace  as  stones,  but  to  be  in  Jerusalem  as  stones.  But 
even  so,  for  the  most  part,  these  splendid  kinghoods  expire 
in  ruin,  and  only  the  true  kinghoods  live,  which  are  of  royal 
laborers  governing  loyal  laborers;  who,  both  leading  rough 
lives,  establish  the  true  dynasties.  Conclusively  you  will 
find  that  because  you  are  king  of  a  nation,  it  does  not  follow 
that  you  are  to  gather  for  yourself  all  the  wealth  of  that 
nation;  neither,  because  you  are  king  of  a  small  part  of  the 
nation,  and  lord  over  the  means  of  its  maintenance  —  over 
field,  or  mill,  or  mine  —  are  you  to  take  all  the  produce  of  that 
piece  of  the  foundation  of  national  existence  for  yourself. 

You  will  tell  me  I  need  not  preach  against  these  things, 
for  I  cannot  mend  them.  No,  good  friends,  I  cannot;  but 
you  can,  and  you  will;  or  something  else  can  and  will.  Even 
good  things  have  no  abiding  power  —  and  shall  these  evil 
things  persist  in  victorious  evil?     All  history  shows,  on  the 


TRAFFIC  423 

contrary,  that  to  be  the  exact  thing  they  never  can  do.  Change 
must  come;  but  it  is  ours  to  determine  whether  change  of 
growth,  or  change  of  death.  Shall  the  Parthenon  be  in  ruins 
on  its  rock,  and  Bolton  Priory  in  its  meadow,  but  these  mills 
of  yours  be  the  consummation  of  the  buildings  of  the  earth, 
and  their  wheels  be  as  the  wheels  of  eternity?  Think  you 
that  ''men  may  come,  and  men  may  go,"  but  —  mills  —  go 
on  forever?  Not  so;  out  of  these,  better  or  worse  shall  come; 
and  it  is  for  you  to  choose  which. 

I  know  that  none  of  this  wrong  is  done  with  deliberate 
purpose.  I  know,  on  the  contrary,  that  you  wish  your  work- 
men well;  that  you  do  much  for  them,  and  that  you  desire  to 
do  more  for  them,  if  you  saw  your  way  to  such  benevolence 
safely.  I  know  that  even  all  this  wrong  and  misery  are 
brought  about  by  a  warped  sense  of  duty,  each  of  you  striving 
to  do  his  best;  but  unhappily,  not  knowing  for  whom  this 
best  should  be  done.  And  all  our  hearts  have  been  betrayed 
by  the  plausible  impiety  of  the  modern  economist,  that  "To 
do  the  best  for  yourself,  is  finally  to  do  the  best  for  others." 
Friends,  our  great  Master  said  not  so;  and  most  absolutely 
we  shall  find  this  world  is  not  made  so.  Indeed,  to  do  the 
best  for  others,  is  finally  to  do  the  best  for  ourselves;  but  it 
will  not  do  to  have  our  eyes  fixed  on  that  issue.  The  Pagans 
had  got  beyond  that.  Hear  what  a  Pagan  says  of  this  matter; 
hear  what  were,  perhaps,  the  last  written  words  of  Plato, 
—  if  not  the  last  actually  written  (for  this  we  cannot  know), 
yet  assuredly  in  fact  and  power  his  parting  words  —  in  which, 
endeavoring  to  give  full  crowning  and  harmonious  close  to 
all  his  thoughts,  and  to  speak  the  sum  of  them  by  the  imagined 
sentence  of  the  Great  Spirit,  his  strength  and  his  heart  fail 
him,  and  the  words  cease,  broken  off  forever. 

They  are  at  the  close  of  the  dialogue  called  "Critias,"  in 
which  he  describes,  partly  from  real  tradition,  partly  in  ideal 
dream,  the  early  state  of  Athens;  and  the  genesis,  and  order, 
and  religion  of  the  fabled  isle  of  Atlantis;    in  which  genesis 


424  JOHN  RUSKIN 

he  conceives  the  same  first  perfection  and  final  degeneracy  of 
man,  which  in  our  own  Scriptural  tradition  is  expressed  by 
saying  that  the  Sons  of  God  intermarried  with  the  daughters 
of  men,  for  he  supposes  the  earliest  race  to  have  been  indeed 
the  children  of  God;  and  to  have  corrupted  themselves,  until 
"their  spot  was  not  the  spot  of  his  children."  And  this,  he 
says,  was  the  end;  that  indeed  "through  many  generations, 
so  long  as  the  God's  nature  in  them  yet  was  full,  they  were 
submissive  to  the  sacred  laws,  and  carried  themselves  lovingly 
to  all  that  had  kindred  with  them  in  divineness;  for  their 
uttermost  spirit  was  faithful  and  true,  and  in  every  wise 
great;  so  that,  in  all  meekness  of  wisdom,  they  dealt  with  each 
other,  and  took  all  the  chances  of  life;  and  despising  all  things 
except  virtue,  they  cared  little  what  happened  day  by  day, 
and  bore  lightly  the  burden  of  gold  and  of  possessions;  for 
they  saw  that,  if  only  their  common  love  and  virtue  increased, 
all  these  things  would  be  increased  together  with  them;  but  to 
set  their  esteem  and  ardent  pursuit  upon  material  possession 
would  be  to  lose  that  first,  and  their  virtue  and  affection 
together  with  it.  And  by  such  reasoning,  and  what  of  the 
divine  nature  remained  in  them,  they  gained  all  this  greatness 
of  which  we  have  already  told;  but  when  the  God's  part  of 
them  faded  and  became  extinct,  being  mixed  again  and 
again,  and  effaced  by  the  prevalent  mortality;  and  the 
human  nature  at  last  exceeded,  they  then  became  unable  to 
endure  the  courses  of  fortune;  and  fell  into  shapelessness  of 
life,  and  baseness  in  the  sight  of  him  who  could  see,  having 
lost  everything  that  was  fairest  of  their  honor;  while  to  the 
blind  hearts  which  could  not  discern  the  true  life,  tending  to 
happiness,  it  seemed  that  they  were  then  chiefly  noble  and 
happy,  being  filled  with  all  iniquity  of  inordinate  possession 
and  power.  Whereupon,  the  God  of  gods,  whose  Kinghood 
is  in  laws,  beholding  a  once  just  nation  thus  cast  into  misery, 
and  desiring  to  lay  such  punishment  upon  them  as  might 
make  them  repent  into  restraining,  gathered  together  all  the 


TRAFFIC  425 

gods  into  his  dwelling-place,  which  from  heaven's  centre 
overlooks  whatever  has  part  in  creation;  and  having  assembled 
them,  he  said"  — 

The  rest  is  silence.  Last  words  of  the  chief  wisdom  of  the 
heathen,  spoken  of  this  idol  of  riches;  this  idol  of  yours; 
this  golden  image  high  by  measureless  cubits,  set  up  where 
your  green  fields  of  England  are  furnace-burnt  into  the  like- 
ness of  the  plain  of  Dura:  this  idol,  forbidden  to  us,  first  of 
all  idols,  by  our  own  Master  and  faith;  forbidden  to  us  also 
by  every  human  lip  that  has  ever,  in  any  age  or  people,  been 
accounted  of  as  able  to  speak  according  to  the  purposes  of 
God.  Continue  to  make  that  forbidden  deity  your  principal 
one,  and  soon  no  more  art,  no  more  science,  no  more  pleasure 
will  be  possible.  Catastrophe  will  come ;  or  worse  than  catas- 
trophe, slow  mouldering  and  withering  into  Hades.  But  if 
you  can  fix  some  conception  of  a  true  human  state  of  life  to 
be  striven  for  —  life  good  for  all  men  as  for  yourselves  —  if 
you  can  determine  some  honest  and  simple  order  of  existence; 
following  those  trodden  ways  of  wisdom,  which  are  pleasant- 
ness, and  seeking  her  quiet  and  withdrawn  paths,  which  are 
peace  ^;  —  then,  and  so  sanctifying  wealth  into  "common- 
wealth," all  your  art,  your  literature,  your  daily  labors,  your 
domestic  aiJection,  and  citizen's  duty,  will  join  and  increase 
into  one  magnificent  harmony.  You  will  know  then  how  to 
build,  well  enough;  you  will  build  with  stone  well,  but  with 
flesh  better;  temples  not  made  with  hands,  but  riveted  of 
hearts;  and  that  kind  of  marble,  crimson-veined,  is  indeed 
eternal. 

^  I  imagine  the  Hebrew  chant  merely  intends  passionate  repetition, 
and  not  a  distinction  of  this  somewhat  fanciful  kind;  yet  we  may  profitably 
make  it  in  reading  the  EngUsh. 


THE   AMERICAN   SCHOLAR  i 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson 

I  GREET  you  on  the  recommencement  of  our  literary  year. 
Our  anniversary  is  one  of  hope,  and,  perhaps,  not  enough  of 
labor.  We  do  not  meet  for  games  of  strength  or  skill,  for  the 
recitation  of  histories,  tragedies  and  odes,  like  the  ancient 
Greeks;  for  parliaments  of  love  and  poesy,  like  the  Trouba- 
dours; nor  for  the  advancement  of  science,  like  our  contem- 
poraries in  the  British  and  European  capitals.  Thus  far, 
our  holiday  has  been  simply  a  friendly  sign  of  the  survival 
of  the  love  of  letters  amongst  a  people  too  busy  to  give  to 
letters  any  more.  As  such,  it  is  precious  as  the  sign  of  an 
indestructible  instinct.  Perhaps  the  time  is  already  come, 
when  it  ought  to  be,  and  will  be,  something  else;  when  the 
sluggard  intellect  of  this  continent  will  look  from  under  its 
iron  lids,  and  fill  the  postponed  expectation  of  the  world  with 
something  better  than  the  exertions  of  mechanical  skill. 
Our  day  of  dependence,  our  long  apprenticeship  to  the  learning 
of  other  lands,  draws  to  a  close.  The  millions,  that  around 
us  are  rushing  into  life,  cannot  always  be  fed  on  the  sere 
remains  of  foreign  harvests.  Events,  actions  arise,  that 
must  be  sung,  that  will  sing  themselves.  Who  can  doubt 
that  poetry  will  revive  and  lead  in  a  new  age,  as  the  star  in 
the  constellation  Harp,  which  now  flames  in  our  zenith, 
astronomers  announce,  shall  one  day  be  the  pole-star  for  a 
thousand  years? 

In  this  hope  I  accept  the  topic  which  not  only  usage,  but 
the  nature  of  our  association,  seem  to  prescribe  to  this  day,  — 

1  An  oralion  delivered  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society,  at  Cambridge, 
August  31,  1837. 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  427 

the  American  Scholar.  Year  by  year  we  come  up  hither 
to  read  one  more  chapter  of  his  biography.  Let  us  inquire 
what  hght  new  days  and  events  have  thrown  on  his  character 
and  his  hopes. 

It  is  one  of  those  fables  which,  out  of  an  unknown  antiquity, 
convey  an  unlooked-for  wisdom,  that  the  gods,  in  the  begin- 
ning, divided  Man  into  men,  that  he  might  be  more  helpful 
to  himself;  just  as  the  hand  was  divided  into  fingers,  the 
better  to  answer  its  end. 

The  old  fable  covers  a  doctrine  ever  new  and  subhme; 
that  there  is  One  Man,  —  present  to  all  particular  men  only 
partially,  or  through  one  faculty;  and  that  you  must  take  the 
whole  society  to  find  the  whole  man.  Man  is  not  a  farmer,  or 
a  professor,  or  an  engineer,  but  he  is  all.  Man  is  priest,  and 
scholar,  and  statesman,  and  producer,  and  soldier.  In  the 
divided  or  social  state  these  functions  are  parceled  out  to  indi- 
viduals, each  of  whom  aims  to  do  his  stint  of  the  joint  work, 
whilst  each  other  performs  his.  The  fable  implies  that  the 
individual,  to  possess  himself,  must  sometimes  return  from 
his  own  labor  to  embrace  all  the  other  laborers.  But,  unfor- 
tunately, this  original  unit,  this  fountain  of  power,  has  been 
so  distributed  to  multitudes,  has  been  so  minutely  sub- 
divided and  peddled  out,  that  it  is  spilled  into  drops  and 
cannot  be  gathered.  The  state  of  society  is  one  in  which 
the  members  have  suffered  amputation  from  the  trunk,  and 
strut  about  so  many  walking  monsters  —  a  good  finger,  a 
neck,  a  stomach,  an  elbow,  but  never  a  man. 

Man  is  thus  metamorphosed  into  a  thing,  into  many  things. 
The  planter,  who  is  Man  sent  out  into  the  field  to  gather 
food,  is  seldom  cheered  by  any  idea  of  the  true  dignity  of  his 
ministry.  He  sees  his  bushel  and  his  cart,  and  nothing 
beyond,  and  sinks  into  the  farmer,  instead  of  Man  on  the 
farm.  The  tradesman  scarcely  ever  gives  an  ideal  worth 
to  his  work,  but  is  ridden  by  the  routine  of  his  craft,  and 
the  soul  is  subject  to  dollars.     The  priest  becomes  a  form; 


428  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

the  attorney,  a  statute-book;  the  mechanic,  a  machine;  the 
sailor,  a  rope  of  a  ship. 

In  this  distribution  of  functions  the  scholar  is  the  delegated 
intellect.  In  the  right  state,  he  is  Man  Thinking.  In  the 
degenerate  state,  when  the  victim  of  society,  he  tends  to 
become  a  mere  thinker,  or,  still  worse,  the  parrot  of  other 
men's  thinking. 

In  this  view  of  him,  as  Man  Thinking,  the  theory  of  his 
office  is  contained.  Him  Nature  solicits  with  all  her  placid, 
all  her  monitory  pictures;  him  the  past  instructs;  him  the 
future  invites.  Is  not,  indeed,  every  man  a  student,  and  do 
not  all  things  exist  for  the  student's  behoof?  And,  finally, 
is  not  the  true  scholar  the  only  true  master?  But  the  old 
oracle  said,  "All  things  have  two  handles:  beware  of  the 
wrong  one."  In  life,  too  often  the  scholar  errs  with  mankind 
and  forfeits  his  privilege.  Let  us  see  him  in  his  school,  and 
consider  him  in  reference  to  the  main  influences  he  receives. 

I.  The  first  in  time  and  the  first  in  importance  of  the 
influences  upon  the  mind  is  that  of  Nature.  Every  day,  the 
sun;  and,  after  sunset.  Night  and  her  stars.  Ever  the  winds 
blow;  ever  the  grass  grows.  Every  day,  men  and  women, 
conversing,  beholding  and  beholden.  The  scholar  is  he  of 
all  men  whom  this  spectacle  most  engages.  He  must  settle 
its  value  in  his  mind.  What  is  Nature  to  him?  There  is 
never  a  beginning,  there  is  never  an  end,  to  the  inexplicable 
continuity  of  this  web  of  God,  but  always  circular  power 
returning  into'  itself.  Therein  it  resembles  his  own  spirit, 
whose  beginning,  whose  ending,  he  never  can  find,  —  so 
entire,  so  boundless.  Far,  too,  as  her  splendors  shine,  system 
on  system  shooting  like  rays,  upward,  downward,  without 
centre,  without  circumference,  —  in  the  mass  and  in  the  par- 
ticle. Nature  hastens  to  render  account  of  herself  to  the 
mind.  Classification  begins.  To  the  young  mind,  everything 
is  individual,  stands  by  itself.     By  and  by  it  finds  how  to 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  429 

join  two  things,  and  see  in  them  one  nature;  then  three,  then 
three  thousand;  and  so  tyrannized  over  by  its  own  unifying 
instinct,  it  goes  on  tying  things  together,  diminishing  anom- 
alies, discovering  roots  running  under  ground,  whereby  con- 
trary and  remote  things  cohere,  and  flower  out  from  one 
stem.  It  presently  learns  that  since  the  dawn  of  history  there 
has  been  a  constant  accumulation  and  classifying  of  facts. 
But  what  is  classification  but  the  perceiving  that  these  objects 
are  not  chaotic,  and  are  not  foreign,  but  have  a  law  which 
is  also  a  law  of  the  human  mind?  The  astronomer  discovers 
that  geometry,  a  pure  abstraction  of  the  human  mind,  is  the 
measure  of  planetary  motion.  The  chemist  finds  proportions 
and  intelligible  method  throughout  matter;  and  science  is 
nothing  but  the  finding  of  analogy,  identity,  in  the  most 
remxOte  parts.  The  ambitious  soul  sits  down  before  each  re- 
fractory fact;  one  after  another  reduces  all  strange  consti- 
tutions, all  new  powers,  to  their  class  and  their  law,  and 
goes  on  forever  to  animate  the  last  fiber  of  organization,  the 
outskirts  of  nature,  by  insight. 

Thus  to  him,  to  this  school-boy  under  the  bending  dome  of 
day,  is  suggested  that  he  and  it  proceed  from  one  root;  one 
is  leaf  and  one  is  flower;  relation,  sympathy,  stirring  in  every 
vein.  And  what  is  that  Root?  Is  not  that  the  soul  of  his 
soul?  A  thought  too  bold,  a  dream  too  wild.  Yet  when 
this  spiritual  light  shall  have  revealed  the  law  of  more  earthly 
natures,  when  he  has  learned  to  worship  the  soul,  and  to  see 
that  the  natural  philosophy  that  now  is,  is  only  the  first 
gropings  of  its  gigantic  hand,  he  shall  look  forward  to  an  ever- 
expanding  knowledge  as  to  a  becoming  creator.  He  shall 
see  that  Nature  is  the  opposite  of  the  soul,  answering  to  it 
part  for  part.  One  is  seal  and  one  is  print.  Its  beauty  is 
the  beauty  of  his  own  mind.  Its  laws  are  the  laws  of  his 
own  mind.  Nature  then  becomes  to  him  the  measure  of  his 
attainments.  So  much  of  Nature  as  he  is  ignorant  of,  so  much 
of  his  own  mind  does  he  not  yet  possess.     And,  in  fine,  the 


430  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

ancient  precept,  "Know  thyself,"  and  the  modern  precept, 
"Study  Nature,"  become  at  last  one  maxim. 

II.  The  next  great  influence  into  the  spirit  of  the  scholar 
is  the  mind  of  the  Past  —  in  whatever  form,  whether  of 
literature,  of  art,  of  institutions,  that  mind  is  inscribed. 
Books  are  the  best  type  of  the  influence  of  the  past,  and 
perhaps  we  shall  get  at  the  truth  —  learn  the  amount  of 
this  influence  more  conveniently  —  by  considering  their  value 
alone. 

The  theory  of  books  is  noble.  The  scholar  of  the  first  age 
received  into  him  the  world  around;  brooded  thereon;  gave 
it  the  new  arrangement  of  his  own  mind,  and  uttered  it  again. 
It  came  into  him  life;  it  went  out  from  him  truth.  It  came 
to  him  short-lived  actions;  it  went  out  from  him  immortal 
thoughts.  It  came  to  him  business;  it  went  from  him  poetry. 
It  was  dead  fact;  now  it  is  quick  thought.  It  can  stand  and 
it  can  go.  It  now  endures,  it  now  flies,  it  now  aspires.  Pre- 
cisely in  proportion  to  the  depth  of  mind  from  which  it  issued, 
so  high  does  it  soar,  so  long  does  it  sing. 

Or,  I  might  say,  it  depends  on  how  far  the  process  had  gone 
of  transmuting  life  into  truth.  In  proportion  to  the  com- 
pleteness of  the  distillation,  so  will  the  purity  and  imperish- 
ableness  of  the  product  be.  But  none  is  quite  perfect.  As 
no  air-pump  can  by  any  means  make  a  perfect  vacuum,  so 
neither  can  any  artist  entirely  exclude  the  conventional,  the 
local,  the  perishable  from  his  book,  or  write  a  book  of  pure 
thought  that  shall  be  as  efiicient  in  all  respects  to  a  remote 
posterity,  as  to  contemporaries,  or  rather  to  the  second  age. 
Each  age,  it  is  found,  must  write  its  own  books;  or  rather, 
each  generation  for  the  next  succeeding.  The  books  of  an 
older  period  will  not  fit  this. 

Yet  hence  arises  a  grave  mischief.  The  sacredness  which 
attaches  to  the  act  of  creation  —  the  act  of  thought  —  is 
transferred  to  the  record.     The  poet  chanting  was  felt  to  be 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR 


431 


a  divine  man:  henceforth  the  chant  is  divine  also.  The  writer 
was  a  just  and  wise  spirit:  henceforward  it  is  settled,  the  book 
is  perfect;  as  love  of  the  hero  corrupts  into  worship  of  his 
statue.  Instantly  the  book  becomes  noxious;  the  guide  is  a 
tyrant.  The  sluggish  and  perverted  mind  of  the  multitude, 
slow  to  open  to  the  incursions  of  Reason,  having  once  so 
opened,  having  once  received  this  book,  stands  upon  it  and 
makes  an  outcry  if  it  is  disparaged.  Colleges  are  built  on  it. 
Books  are  written  on  it  by  thinkers,  not  by  Man  Thinking; 
by  men  of  talent,  that  is,  who  start  wrong,  who  set  out  from 
accepted  dogmas,  not  from  their  own  sight  of  principles. 
Meek  young  men  grow  up  in  libraries  believing  it  their  duty 
to  accept  the  views  which  Cicero,  which  Locke,  which  Bacon 
have  given,  forgetful  that  Cicero,  Locke,  and  Bacon  were 
only  young  men  in  libraries  when  they  wrote  these  books. 

Hence,  instead  of  Man  Thinking  we  have  the  bookworm. 
Hence,  the  book-learned  class  who  value  books  as  such;  not 
as  related  to  Nature  and  the  human  constitution,  but  as 
making  a  sort  of  Third  Estate  with  the  world  and  the  soul. 
Hence,  the  restorers  of  readings,  the  emendators,  the  biblio- 
maniacs of  all  degrees. 

Books  are  the  best  of  things,  well  used;  abused,  among  the 
worst.  What  is  the  right  use?  What  is  the  one  end,  which 
all  means  go  to  effect?  They  are  for  nothing  but  to  inspire. 
I  had  better  never  see  a  book,  than  to  be  warped  by  its  attrac- 
tion clean  out  of  my  own  orbit,  and  made  a  satellite  instead 
of  a  system.  The  one  thing  in  the  world,  of  value,  is  the  active 
soul.  This  every  man  is  entitled  to;  this  every  man  contains 
within  him,  although,  in  almost  all  men,  obstructed  and  as 
yet  unborn.  The  soul  active  sees  absolute  truth;  and  utters 
truth,  or  creates.  In  this  action  it  is  genius;  not  the  privilege 
of  here  and  there  a  favorite,  but  the  sound  estate  of  every 
man.  In  its  essence  it  is  progressive.  The  book,  the  college, 
the  school  of  art,  the  institution  of  any  kind,  stop  with  some 
past  utterance  of  genius.     This  is  good,  say  they,  —  let  us 


432  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

hold  by  this.  They  pin  me  down.  They  look  backward  and 
not  forward.  But  genius  looks  forward;  the  eyes  of  man  are 
set  in  his  forehead,  not  in  his  hindhead;  man  hopes;  genius 
creates.  Whatever  talents  may  be,  if  the  man  create  not, 
the  pure  efiSux  of  the  Deity  is  not  his;  cinders  and  smoke 
there  may  be,  but  not  yet  flame.  There  are  creative  manners, 
there  are  creative  actions,  and  creative  words;  manners, 
actions,  words,  that  is,  indicative  of  no  custom  or  authority, 
but  springing  spontaneous  from  the  mind's  own  sense  of  good 
and  fair. 

On  the  other  part,  instead  of  being  its  own  seer,  let  it 
receive  from  another  mind  its  truth,  though  it  were  in  torrents 
of  light,  without  periods  of  solitude,  inquest,  and  self-recovery, 
and  a  fatal  disservice  is  done.  Genius  is  always  sufl&ciently 
the  enemy  of  genius  by  over-influence.  The  literature  of 
every  nation  bears  me  witness.  The  English  dramatic  poets 
have  Shakspearized  now  for  two  hundred  years. 

Undoubtedly  there  is  a  right  way  of  reading,  so  it  be  sternly 
subordinated.  Man  Thinking  must  not  be  subdued  by  his 
instruments.  Books  are  for  the  scholar's  idle  times.  When 
he  can  read  God  directly,  the  hour  is  too  precious  to  be  wasted 
in  other  men's  transcripts  of  their  readings.  But  when  the 
intervals  of  darkness  come,  as  come  they  must,  —  when  the 
sun  is  hid,  and  the  stars  withdraw  their  shining,  —  we  repair 
to  the  lamps  which  were  kindled  by  their  ray,  to  guide  our 
steps  to  the  East  again,  where  the  dawn  is.  We  hear,  that 
we  may  speak.  The  Arabian  proverb  says,  "A  fig-tree,  look- 
ing on  a  fig-tree,  become th  fruitful." 

It  is  remarkable,  the  character  of  the  pleasure  we  derive 
from  the  best  books.  They  impress  us  with  the  conviction 
that  one  nature  wrote  and  the  same  reads.  We  read  the 
verses  of  one  of  the  great  English  poets,  of  Chaucer,  of  Mar- 
veil,  of  Dryden,  with  the  most  modern  joy,  —  with  a  pleasure, 
I  mean,  which  is  in  great  part  caused  by  the  abstraction  of 
all  time  from  their  verses.     There  is  some  awe  mixed  with 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  433 

the  joy  of  our  surprise  when  this  poet,  who  lived  in  some  past 
world  two  or  three  hundred  years  ago,  says  that  which  lies 
close  to  my  own  soul,  that  which  I  also  had  wellnigh  thought 
and  said.  But  for  the  evidence  thence  afforded  to  the  philo- 
sophical doctrine  of  the  identity  of  all  minds,  we  should 
suppose  some  preestablished  harmony,  some  foresight  of 
souls  that  were  to  be,  and  some  preparation  of  stores  for 
their  future  wants,  like  the  fact  observed  in  insects,  who  lay 
up  food  before  death  for  the  young  grub  they  shall  never  see. 

I  would  not  be  hurried  by  any  love  of  system,  by  any 
exaggeration  of  instincts,  to  underrate  the  Book.  We  all 
know  that  as  the  human  body  can  be  nourished  on  any  food, 
though  it  were  boiled  grass  and  the  broth  of  shoes,  so  the 
human  mind  can  be  fed  by  any  knowledge.  And  great  and 
heroic  men  have  existed  who  had  almost  no  other  information 
than  by  the  printed  page.  I  only  would  say,  that  it  needs  a 
strong  head  to  bear  that  diet.  One  must  be  an  inventor  to 
read  well.  As  the  proverb  says,  "He  that  would  bring  home 
the  wealth  of  the  Indies,  must  carry  out  the  wealth  of  the 
Indies."  There  is  then  creative  reading  as  well  as  creative 
writing.  When  the  mind  is  braced  by  labor  and  invention, 
the  page  of  whatever  book  we  read  becomes  luminous  with 
manifold  allusion.  Every  sentence  is  doubly  significant,  and 
the  sense  of  our  author  is  as  broad  as  the  world.  We  then 
see,  what  is  always  true,  that,  as  the  seer's  hour  of  vision  is 
short  and  rare  among  heavy  days  and  months,  so  is  its  record, 
perchance,  the  least  part  of  his  volume.  The  discerning  will 
read,  in  his  Plato  or  Shakspeare,  only  that  least  part,  —  only 
the  authentic  utterances  of  the  oracle;  all  the  rest  he  rejects, 
were  it  never  so  many  times  Plato's  and  Shakspeare's. 

Of  course,  there  is  a  portion  of  reading  quite  indispensable 
to  a  wise  man.  History  and  exact  science  he  must  learn  by 
laborious  reading.  Colleges,  in  like  manner,  have  their 
indispensable  office,  —  to  teach  elements.  But  they  can  only 
highly  serve  us  when  they  aim  not  to  drill,  but  to  create; 


434  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

when  they  gather  from  far  every  ray  of  various  genius  to 
their  hospitable  halls,  and,  by  the  concentrated  fires,  set  the 
hearts  of  their  youth  on  flame.  Thought  and  knowledge  are 
natures  in  which  apparatus  and  pretension  avail  nothing. 
Gowns,  and  pecuniary  foundations,  though  of  towns  of  gold, 
can  never  countervail  the  least  sentence  or  syllable  of  wit. 
Forget  this,  and  our  American  colleges  will  recede  in  their 
public  importance,  whilst  they  grow  richer  every  year. 

III.  There  goes  in  the  world  a  notion  that  the  scholar 
should  be  a  recluse,  a  valetudinarian,  —  as  unfit  for  any 
handiwork  or  public  labor,  as  a  pen-knife  for  an  axe.  The 
so-called  "practical  men"  sneer  at  speculative  men,  as  if, 
because  they  speculate  or  see,  they  could  do  nothing.  I  have 
heard  it  said  that  the  clergy  —  who  are  always,  more  univer- 
sally than  any  other  class,  the  scholars  of  their  day  —  are 
addressed  as  women;  that  the  rough,  spontaneous  conversa- 
tion of  men  they  do  not  hear,  but  only  a  mincing  and  diluted 
speech.  They  are  often  virtually  disfranchised;  and,  indeed, 
there  are  advocates  for  their  celibacy.  As  far  as  this  is  true 
of  the  studious  classes,  it  is  not  just  and  wise.  Action  is 
with  the  scholar  subordinate,  but  it  is  essential.  Without  it, 
he  is  not  yet  man.  Without  it,  thought  can  never  ripen  into 
truth.  Whilst  the  world  hangs  before  the  eye  as  a  cloud  of 
beauty,  we  cannot  even  see  its  beauty.  Inaction  is  cowardice, 
but  there  can  be  no  scholar  without  the  heroic  mind.  The 
preamble  of  thought,  the  transition  through  which  it  passes 
from  the  unconscious  to  the  conscious,  is  action.  Only  so 
much  do  I  know,  as  I  have  lived.  Instantly  we  know  whose 
words  are  loaded  with  life,  and  whose  not. 

The  world  —  this  shadow  of  the  soul,  or  other  me  —  lies 
wide  around.  Its  attractions  are  the  keys  which  unlock  my 
thoughts  and  make  me  acquainted  with  myself.  I  run 
eagerly  into  this  resounding  tumult.  I  grasp  the  hands  of 
those  next  me,  and  take  my  place  in  the  ring  to  suffer  and  to 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  435 

work,  taught  by  an  instinct,  that  so  shall  the  dumb  abyss  be 
vocal  with  speech.  I  pierce  its  order;  I  dissipate  its  fear;  I 
dispose  of  it  within  the  circuit  of  my  expanding  life.  So 
much  only  of  life  as  I  know  by  experience,  so  much  of  the 
wilderness  have  I  vanquished  and  planted,  or  so  far  have 
I  extended  my  being,  my  dominion.  I  do  not  see  how  any 
man  can  afford,  for  the  sake  of  his  nerves  and  his  nap, 
to  spare  any  action  in  which  he  can  partake.  It  is  pearls 
and  rubies  to  his  discourse.  Drudgery,  calamity,  exaspera- 
tion, want,  are  instructors  in  eloquence  and  wisdom.  The 
true  scholar  grudges  every  opportunity  of  action  passed  by, 
as  a  loss  of  power. 

It  is  the  raw  material  out  of  which  the  intellect  molds  her 
splendid  products.  A  strange  process  too,  this,  by  which 
experience  is  converted  into  thought,  as  a  mulberry  leaf  is 
converted  into  satin.  The  manufacture  goes  forward  at  all 
hours. 

The  actions  and  events  of  our  childhood  and  youth  are  now 
matters  of  calmest  observation.  They  lie  like  fair  pictures  in 
the  air.  Not  so  with  our  recent  actions,  —  with  the  business 
which  we  now  have  in  hand.  On  this  we  are  quite  unable  to 
speculate.  Our  affections  as  yet  circulate  through  it.  We 
no  more  feel  or  know  it,  than  we  feel  the  feet,  or  the  hand, 
or  the  brain  of  our  body.  The  new  deed  is  yet  a  part  of 
life,  —  remains  for  a  time  immersed  in  our  unconscious  life. 
In  some  contemplative  hour  it  detaches  itself  from  the  life 
like  a  ripe  fruit,  to  become  a  thought  of  the  mind.  Instantly 
it  is  raised,  transfigured;  the  corruptible  has  put  on  incorrup- 
tion.  Henceforth  it  is  an  object  of  beauty,  however  base  its 
origin  and  neighborhood.  Observe,  too,  the  impossibility  of 
antedating  this  act.  In  its  grub  state,  it  cannot  fly,  it  cannot 
shine,  it  is  a  dull  grub.  But  suddenly,  without  observation, 
the  selfsame  thing  unfurls  beautiful  wings,  and  is  an  angel  of 
wisdom.  So  is  there  no  fact,  no  event,  in  our  private  history 
which  shall  not,  sooner  or  later,  lose  its  adhesive,  inert  form, 


436  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

and  astonish  us  by  soaring  from  our  body  into  the  empyrean. 
Cradle  and  infancy,  school  and  playground,  the  fear  of  boys, 
and  dogs,  and  ferules,  the  love  of  little  maids  and  berries,  and 
many  another  fact  that  once  filled  the  whole  sky,  are  gone 
already;  friend  and  relative,  profession  and  party,  town  and 
country,  nation  and  world,  must  also  soar  and  sing. 

Of  course,  he  who  has  put  forth  his  total  strength  in  fit 
actions  has  the  richest  return  of  wisdom.  I  will  not  shut 
myself  out  of  this  globe  of  action,  and  transplant  an  oak  into 
a  flower-pot,  there  to  hunger  and  pine;  nor  trust  the  revenue 
of  some  single  faculty,  and  exhaust  one  vein  of  thought, 
much  like  those  Savoyards,  who,  getting  their  livelihood  by 
carving  shepherds,  shepherdesses,  and  smoking  Dutchmen 
for  all  Europe,  went  out  one  day  to  the  mountain  to  find  stock, 
and  discovered  that  they  had  whittled  up  the  last  of  their 
pine-trees.  Authors  we  have  in  numbers  who  have  written 
out  their  vein,  and  who,  moved  by  a  commendable  prudence, 
sail  for  Greece  or  Palestine,  follow  the  trapper  into  the  prairie, 
or  ramble  round  Algiers,  to  replenish  their  merchantable 
stock. 

If  it  were  only  for  a  vocabulary,  the  scholar  would  be  covet- 
ous of  action.  Life  is  our  dictionary.  Years  are  well  spent 
in  country  labors;  in  town,  in  the  insight  into  trades  and 
manufactures;  in  frank  intercourse  with  many  men  and 
women;  in  science;  in  art,  —  to  the  one  end  of  mastering  in 
all  their  facts  a  language  by  which  to  illustrate  and  embody 
our  perceptions.  I  learn  immediately  from  any  speaker  how 
much  he  has  already  lived,  through  the  poverty  or  the  splendor 
of  his  speech.  Life  lies  behind  us  as  the  quarry  from  whence 
we  get  tiles  and  cope-stones  for  the  masonry  of  to-day.  This 
is  the  way  to  learn  grammar.  Colleges  and  books  only  copy 
the  language  which  the  field  and  the  work-yard  made. 

But  the  final  value  of  action,  like  that  of  books,  and  better 
than  books,  is,  that  it  is  a  resource.  That  great  principle  of 
Undulation  in  nature,  that  shows  itself  in  the  inspiring  and 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  437 

expiring  of  the  breath;  in  desire  and  satiety;  in  the  ebb  and 
flow  of  the  sea;  in  day  and  night;  in  heat  and  cold  ;  and  as 
yet  more  deeply  ingrained  in  every  atom  and  every  fluid,  is 
known  to  us  under  the  name  of  Polarity,  —  these  "fits  of  easy 
transmission  and  reflection,"  as  Newton  called  them,  are  the 
law  of  Nature  because  they  are  the  law  of  spirit. 

The  mind  now  thinks,  now  acts;  and  each  fit  reproduces 
the  other.  When  the  artist  has  exhausted  his  materials,  when 
the  fancy  no  longer  paints,  when  thoughts  are  no  longer 
apprehended,  and  books  are  a  weariness,  —  he  has  always  the 
resource  to  live.  Character  is  higher  than  intellect.  Think- 
ing is  the  function.  Living  is  the  functionary.  The  stream 
retreats  to  its  source.  A  great  soul  will  be  strong  to  live,  as 
well  as  strong  to  think.  Does  he  lack  organ  or  medium  to 
impart  his  truths?  He  can  still  fall  back  on  this  elemental 
force  of  living  them.  This  is  a  total  act.  Thin  king  is  a 
partial  act.  Let  the  grandeur  of  justice  shine  in  his  affairs. 
Let  the  beauty  of  affection  cheer  his  lowly  roof.  Those  "far 
from  fame,"  who  dwell  and  act  with  him,  will  feel  the  force 
of  his  constitution  in  the  doings  and  passages  of  the  day 
better  than  it  can  be  measured  by  any  public  and  designed 
display.  Time  shall  teach  him  that  the  scholar  loses  no  hour 
which  the  man  lives.  Herein  he  unfolds  the  sacred  germ  of 
his  instinct,  screened  from  influence.  What  is  lost  in  seemli- 
ness  is  gained  in  strength.  Not  out  of  those,  on  whom  sys- 
tems of  education  have  exhausted  their  culture,  comes  the 
helpful  giant  to  destroy  the  old  or  to  build  the  new,  but  out  of 
unhandselled  savage  nature,  out  of  terrible  Druids  and  ber- 
serkirs,  come  at  last  Alfred  and  Shakspeare. 

I  hear,  therefore,  with  joy  whatever  is  beginning  to  be  said 
of  the  dignity  and  necessity  of  labor  to  every  citizen.  There 
is  virtue  yet  in  the  hoe  and  the  spade,  for  learned  as  well 
as  for  unlearned  hands.  And  labor  is  everywhere  welcome; 
always  we  are  invited  to  work;  only  be  this  limitation  ob- 
served, that  a  man  shall  not  for  the  sake  of  wider  activity 


438  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

sacrifice  any  opinion  to  the  popular  judgments  and  modes  of 
action. 

I  have  now  spoken  of  the  education  of  the  scholar  by 
Nature,  by  books,  and  by  action.  It  remains  to  say  somewhat 
of  his  duties. 

They  are  such  as  become  Man  Thinking.  They  may  all 
be  comprised  in  self-trust.  The  office  of  the  scholar  is  to 
cheer,  to  raise,  and  to  guide  men  by  showing  them  facts  amidst 
appearances.  He  plies  the  slow,  unhonored,  and  unpaid 
task  of  observation.  Flamsteed  and  Herschel,  in  their 
glazed  observatories,  may  catalogue  the  stars  with  the  praise 
of  all  men,  and,  the  results  being  splendid  and  useful,  honor 
is  sure.  But  he,  in  his  private  observatory,  cataloguing 
obscure  and  nebulous  stars  of  the  human  mind,  which  as  yet 
no  man  has  thought  of  as  such,  —  watching  days  and  months, 
sometimes,  for  a  few  facts;  correcting  still  his  old  records,  — 
must  relinquish  display  and  immediate  fame.  In  the  long 
period  of  his  preparation  he  must  betray  often  an  ignorance 
and  shiftlessness  in  popular  arts,  incurring  the  disdain  of  the 
able,  who  shoulder  him  aside.  Long  he  must  stammer  in 
his  speech;  often  forego  the  living  for  the  dead.  Worse  yet, 
he  must  accept  — how  often!  —  poverty  and  solitude.  For 
the  ease  and  pleasure  of  treading  the  old  road,  accepting  the 
fashions,  the  education,  the  religion  of  society,  he  takes  the 
cross  of  making  his  own,  and,  of  course,  the  self-accusation, 
the  faint  heart,  the  frequent  uncertainty  and  loss  of  time,  which 
are  the  nettles  and  tangling  vines  in  the  way  of  the  self- 
relying  and  self-directed;  and  the  state  of  virtual  hostility  in 
which  he  seems  to  stand  to  society,  and  especially  to  educated 
society.  For  all  this  loss  and  scorn,  what  off-set?  He  is  to 
find  consolation  in  exercising  the  highest  functions  of  human 
nature.  He  is  one  who  raises  himself  from  private  considera- 
tions, and  breathes  and  lives  on  public  and  illustrious  thoughts. 
He  is  the  world's  eye.     He  is  the  world's  heart.     He  is  to  resist 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  439 

the  vulgar  prosperity  that  retrogrades  ever  to  barbarism,  by 
preserving  and  communicating  heroic  sentiments,  noble 
biographies,  melodious  verse,  and  the  conclusions  of  history. 
Whatsoever  oracles  the  human  heart,  in  all  emergencies,  in 
all  solemn  hours,  has  uttered  as  its  commentary  on  the  world 
of  actions,  —  these  he  shall  receive  and  impart.  And  whatso- 
ever new  verdict  Reason  from  her  inviolable  seat  pronounces 
on  the  passing  men  and  events  of  to-day,  —  this  he  shall 
hear  and  promulgate. 

These  being  his  functions,  it  becomes  him  to  feel  all  confi- 
dence in  himself,  and  to  defer  never  to  the  popular  cry.  He 
and  he  only  knows  the  world.  The  world  of  any  moment 
is  the  merest  appearance.  Some  great  decorum,  some  fetish 
of  a  government,  some  ephemeral  trade,  or  war,  or  man,  is 
cried  up  by  half  mankind  and  cried  down  by  the  other  half, 
as  if  all  depended  on  this  particular  up  or  down.  The  odds 
are  that  the  whole  question  is  not  worth  the  poorest  thought 
which  the  scholar  has  lost  in  listening  to  the  controversy. 
Let  him  not  quit  his  belief  that  a  popgun  is  a  popgun,  though 
the  ancient  and  honorable  of  the  earth  afhrm  it  to  be  the 
crack  of  doom.  In  silence,  in  steadiness,  in  severe  abstrac- 
tion, let  him  hold  by  himself;  add  observation  to  observation, 
patient  of  neglect,  patient  of  reproach;  and  bide  his  own 
time,  —  happy  enough  if  he  can  satisfy  himself  alone,  that 
this  day  he  has  seen  something  truly.  Success  treads  on 
every  right  step.  For  the  instinct  is  sure  that  prompts  him 
to  tell  his  brother  what  he  thinks.  He  then  learns  that  in 
going  down  into  the  secrets  of  his  own  mind  he  has  de- 
scended into  the  secrets  of  all  minds.  He  learns  that  he 
who  has  mastered  any  law  in  his  private  thoughts  is 
master  to  that  extent  of  all  men  whose  language  he  speaks, 
and  of  all  into  whose  language  his  own  can  be  translated. 
The  poet,  in  utter  solitude  remembering  his  spontaneous 
thoughts  and  recording  them,  is  found  to  have  recorded 
that  which  men  in  crowded  cities  find  true  for  them  also. 


440  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

The  orator  distrusts  at  first  the  fitness  of  his  frank  confes- 
sions, —  his  want  of  knowledge  of  the  persons  he  addresses, 
—  until  he  finds  that  he  is  the  complement  of  his  hearers; 
that  they  drink  his  words  because  he  fulfils  for  them  their 
own  nature;  the  deeper  he  dives  into  his  privatest,  secret- 
est  presentiment,  to  his  wonder  he  finds  this  is  the  most 
acceptable,  most  public,  and  universally  true.  The  people 
delight  in  it;  the  better  part  of  every  man  feels.  This  is  my 
music;    this  is  myself. 

In  self-trust  all  the  virtues  are  comprehended.  Free  should 
the  scholar  be,  —  free  and  brave.  Free  even  to  the  definition 
of  freedom,  "without  any  hindrance  that  does  not  arise  out 
of  his  own  constitution."  Brave;  for  fear  is  a  thing  which  a 
scholar  by  his  very  function  puts  behind  him.  Fear  always 
springs  from  ignorance.  It  is  a  shame  to  him  if  his  tran- 
quillity, amid  dangerous  times,  arise  from  the  presumption 
that,  like  children  and  women,  his  is  a  protected  class;  or  if 
he  seek  a  temporary  peace  by  the  diversion  of  his  thoughts 
from  pontics  or  vexed  questions,  hiding  his  head  like  an 
ostrich  in  the  flowering  bushes,  peeping  into  microscopes,  and 
turning  rhymes,  as  a  boy  whistles  to  keep  his  courage  up. 
So  is  the  danger  a  danger  still;  so  is  the  fear  worse.  Manlike 
let  him  turn  and  face  it.  Let  him  look  into  its  eye  and  search 
its  nature,  inspect  its  origin,  —  see  the  whelping  of  this  lion, 
which  lies  no  great  way  back;  he  will  then  find  in  himself  a 
perfect  comprehension  of  its  nature  and  extent;  he  will  have 
made  his  hands  meet  on  the  other  side,  and  can  henceforth 
defy  it,  and  pass  on  superior.  The  world  is  his,  who  can  see 
through  its  pretension.  What  deafness,  what  stone-blind 
custom,  what  overgrown  error  you  behold,  is  there  only  by 
sufferance,  —  by  your  sufferance.  See  it  to  be  a  lie,  and 
you  have  already  dealt  it  its  mortal  blow. 

Yes,  we  are  the  cowed  —  we  the  trustless.  It  is  a  mis- 
chievous notion  that  we  are  come  late  into  Nature;  that  the 
world  was  finished  a  long  time  ago.     As  the  world  was  plastic 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  441 

and  fluid  in  the  hands  of  God,  so  it  is  ever  to  so  much  of  his 
attributes  as  we  bring  to  it.  To  ignorance  and  sin,  it  is  flint. 
They  adapt  themselves  to  it  as  they  may;  but  in  proportion 
as  a  man  has  anything  in  him  divine,  the  firmament  flows 
before  him  and  takes  his  signet  and  form.  Not  he  is  great  who 
can  alter  matter,  but  he  who  can  alter  my  state  of  mind. 
They  are  the  kings  of  the  world  who  give  the  color  of  their 
present  thought  to  all  nature  and  all  art,  and  persuade  men 
by  the  cheerful  serenity  of  their  carrying  the  matter,  that 
this  thing  which  they  do  is  the  apple  which  the  ages  have 
desired  to  pluck,  now  at  last  ripe,  and  inviting  nations  to  the 
harvest.  The  great  man  makes  the  great  thing.  Wherever 
Macdonald  sits,  there  is  the  head  of  the  table.  Linnaeus 
makes  botany  the  most  alluring  of  studies,  and  wins  it  from 
the  farmer  and  the  herb-woman;  Davy,  chemistry;  and 
Cuvier,  fossils.  The  day  is  always  his,  who  works  in  it  with 
serenity  and  great  aims.  The  unstable  estimates  of  men 
crowd  to  him  whose  mind  is  filled  with  a  truth,  as  the  heaped 
waves  of  the  Atlantic  follow  the  moon. 

For  this  self-trust,  the  reason  is  deeper  than  can  be  fathomed, 
darker  than  can  be  enlightened.  I  might  not  carry  with  me 
the  feeling  of  my  audience  in  stating  my  own  belief.  But  I 
have  already  shown  the  ground  of  my  hope,  in  adverting  to 
the  doctrine  that  man  is  one.  I  believe  man  has  been  wronged; 
he  has  wronged  himself.  He  has  almost  lost  the  light  that 
can  lead  him  back  to  his  prerogatives.  Men  are  become  of 
no  account.  Men  in  history,  men  in  the  world  of  to-day  are 
bugs,  are  spawn,  and  are  called  "the  mass"  and  "the  herd." 
In  a  century,  in  a  millennium,  one  or  two  men;  that  is  to  say, 
one  or  two  approximations  to  the  right  state  of  every  man. 
All  the  rest  behold  in  the  hero  or  the  poet  their  own  green 
and  crude  being,  —  ripened;  yes,  and  are  content  to  be  less, 
so  that  may  attain  to  its  full  stature.  What  a  testimony,  full 
of  grandeur,  full  of  pity,  is  borne  to  the  demands  of  his  own 
nature  by  the  poor  clansman,  the  poor  partisan,  who  rejoices 


442  RALPH  WALDO   EMERSON 

in  the  glory  of  his  chief.  The  poor  and  the  low  find  some 
amends  to  their  immense  moral  capacity  for  their  acquiescence 
in  a  political  and  social  inferiority.  They  are  content  to  be 
brushed  like  flies  from  the  path  of  a  great  person,  so  that 
justice  shall  be  done  by  him  to  that  common  nature  which  it 
is  the  dearest  desire  of  all  to  see  enlarged  and  glorified.  They 
sun  themselves  in  the  great  man's  light,  and  feel  it  to  be  their 
own  element.  They  cast  the  dignity  of  man  from  their 
downtrod  selves  upon  the  shoulders  of  a  hero,  and  will  perish 
to  add  one  drop  of  blood  to  make  that  great  heart  beat,  those 
giant  sinews  combat  and  conquer.  He  lives  for  us,  and  we 
live  in  him. 

Men  such  as  they  are,  very  naturally  seek  money  or  power; 
and  power  because  it  is  as  good  as  money,  —  the  "spoils,"  so 
called,  "of  office."  And  why  not?  for  they  aspire  to  the 
highest,  and  this,  in  their  sleep-walking,  they  dream  is  highest. 
Wake  them,  and  they  shall  quit  the  false  good,  and  leap  to 
the  true,  and  leave  governments  to  clerks  and  desks.  This 
revolution  is  to  be  wrought  by  the  gradual  domestication  of 
the  idea  of  Culture.  The  main  enterprise  of  the  world  for 
splendor,  for  extent,  is  the  upbuilding  of  a  man.  Here  are 
the  materials  strewn  along  the  ground.  The  private  life  of 
one  man  shall  be  a  more  illustrious  monarchy,  —  more  formi- 
dable to  its  enemy,  more  sweet  and  serene  in  its  influence  to 
its  friend,  than  any  kingdom  in  history.  For  a  man,  rightly 
viewed,  comprehendeth  the  particular  natures  of  all  men. 
Each  philosopher,  each  bard,  each  actor,  has  only  done  for 
me,  as  by  a  delegate,  what  one  day  I  can  do  for  myself.  The 
books  which  once  we  valued  more  than  the  apple  of  the  eye, 
we  have  quite  exhausted.  What  is  that  but  saying  that  we 
have  come  up  with  the  point  of  view  which  the  universal 
mind  took  through  the  eyes  of  one  scribe;  we  have  been 
that  man,  and  have  passed  on.  First  one,  then  another,  we 
drain  all  cisterns,  and,  waxing  greater  by  all  these  supplies, 
we  crave  a  better  and  more  abundant  food.     The  man  has 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  443 

never  lived  that  can  feed  us  ever.  The  human  mind  cannot 
be  enshrined  in  a  person  who  shall  set  a  barrier  on  any  one  side 
to  this  unbounded,  unboundable  empire.  It  is  one  central 
fire,  which,  flaming  now  out  of  the  lips  of  Etna,  lightens  the 
capes  of  Sicily;  and  now  out  of  the  throat  of  Vesuvius,  illu- 
minates the  towers  and  vineyards  of  Naples.  It  is  one  light 
which  beams  out  of  a  thousand  stars.  It  is  one  soul  which 
animates  all  men. 

But  I  have  dwelt  perhaps  tediously  upon  this  abstraction 
of  the  Scholar.  I  ought  not  to  delay  longer  to  add  what  I 
have  to  say  of  nearer  reference  to  the  time  and  to  this  country. 

Historically  there  is  thought  to  be  a  difference  in  the  ideas 
which  predominate  over  successive  epochs,  and  there  are 
data  for  marking  the  genius  of  the  Classic,  of  the  Romantic, 
and  now  of  the  Reflective  or  Philosophical  age.  With  the 
views  I  have  intimated  of  the  oneness  or  the  identity  of  the 
mind  through  all  individuals,  I  do  not  much  dwell  on  these 
differences.  In  fact,  I  believe  each  individual  passes  through 
all  three.  The  boy  is  a  Greek ;  the  youth,  romantic;  the  adult, 
reflective.  I  deny  not,  however,  that  a  revolution  in  the 
leading  idea  may  be  distinctly  enough  traced. 

Our  age  is  bewailed  as  the  age  of  Introversion.  Must  that 
needs  be  evil?  We,  it  seems,  are  critical;  we  are  embarrassed 
with  second  thoughts;  we  cannot  enjoy  anything  for  hanker- 
ing to  know  whereof  the  pleasure  consists;  we  are  lined  with 
eyes;  we  see  with  our  feet;  the  time  is  infected  with  Hamlet's 
unhappiness,  — 

Sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought. 

Is  it  so  bad  then?  Sight  is  the  last  thing  to  be  pitied.  Would 
we  be  blind?  Do  we  fear  lest  we  should  outsee  Nature  and 
God,  and  drink  truth  dry?  I  look  upon  the  discontent  of 
the  literary  class  as  a  mere  announcement  of  the  fact  that 
they  find  themselves  n'ot  in  the  state  of  mind  of  their  fathers. 


444  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

and  regret  the  coming  state  as  untried;  as  a  boy  dreads  the 
water  before  he  has  learned  that  he  can  swim.  If  there  is 
any  period  one  would  desire  to  be  born  in,  is  it  not  the  age  of 
Revolution;  when  the  old  and  the  new  stand  side  by  side, 
and  admit  of  being  compared;  when  the  energies  of  all  men 
are  searched  by  fear  and  by  hope;  when  the  historic  glories 
of  the  old  can  be  compensated  by  the  rich  possibilities  of  the 
new  era?  This  time,  like  all  times,  is  a  very  good  one,  if  we 
but  know  what  to  do  with  it. 

I  read  with  joy  some  of  the  auspicious  signs  of  the 
coming  days,  as  they  glimmer  already  through  poetry  and 
art,  through  philosophy  and  science,  through  church  and 
state. 

One  of  these  signs  is  the  fact  that  the  same  movement 
which  affected  the  elevation  of  what  was  called  the  lowest 
class  in  the  state,  assumed  in  literature  a  very  marked  and  as 
benign  an  aspect.  Instead  of  the  sublime  and  beautiful, 
the  near,  the  low,  the  common,  was  explored  and  poetized. 
That  which  had  been  negligently  trodden  under  foot  by 
those  who  were  harnessing  and  provisioning  themselves  for 
long  journeys  into  far  countries,  is  suddenly  found  to  be 
richer  than  all  foreign  parts.  The  literature  of  the  poor,  the 
feelings  of  the  child,  the  philosophy  of  the  street,  the  meaning 
of  household  life,  are  the  topics  of  the  time.  It  is  a  great 
stride.  It  is  a  sign,  is  it  not?  of  new  vigor,  when  the  ex- 
tremities are  made  active,  when  currents  of  warm  life  run 
into  the  hands  and  the  feet.  I  ask  not  for  the  great,  the 
remote,  the  romantic;  what  is  doing  in  Italy  or  Arabia; 
what  is  Greek  art  or  Provencal  minstrelsy;  I  embrace  the 
common,  I  explore  and  sit  at  the  feet  of  the  familiar,  the  low. 
Give  me  insight  into  to-day,  and  you  may  have  the  antique 
and  future  worlds.  What  would  we  really  know  the  meaning 
of?  The  meal  in  the  firkin,  the  milk  in  the  pan,  the  ballad 
in  the  street,  the  news  of  the  boat,  the  glance  of  the  eye,  the 
form  and   the  gait  of  the  body,  —  show  me   the  ultimate 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  445 

reason  of  these  matters;  show  me  the  sublime  presence  of 
the  highest  spiritual  cause  lurking,  as  always  it  does  lurk,  in 
these  suburbs  and  extremities  of  nature;  let  me  see  every 
trifle  bristling  with  the  polarity  that  ranges  it  instantly  on  an 
eternal  law;  and  the  shop,  the  plough,  and  the  ledger,  referred 
to  the  like  cause  by  which  light  undulates  and  poets  sing;  — 
and  the  world  lies  no  longer  a  dull  miscellany  and  lumber- 
room,  but  has  form  and  order;  there  is  no  trifle,  there  is  no 
puzzle,  but  one  design  unites  and  animates  the  farthest  pinna- 
cle and  the  lowest  trench. 

This  idea  has  inspired  the  genius  of  Goldsmith,  Burns, 
Cowper,  and,  in  a  newer  time,  of  Goethe,  Wordsworth,  and 
Carlyle.  This  idea  they  have  differently  followed  and  with 
various  success.  In  contrast  with  their  writing,  the  style  of 
Pope,  of  Johnson,  of  Gibbon,  looks  cold  and  pedantic.  This 
writing  is  blood-warm.  Man  is  surprised  to  find  that  things 
near  are  not  less  beautiful  and  wondrous  than  things  remote. 
The  near  explains  the  far.  The  drop  is  a  small  ocean.  A 
man  is  related  to  all  nature.  This  perception  of  the  worth  of 
the  vulgar  is  fruitful  in  discoveries.  Goethe,  in  this  very 
thing  the  most  modern  of  the  moderns,  has  shown  us,  as  none 
ever  did,  the  genius  of  the  ancients. 

There  is  one  man  of  genius  who  has  done  much  for  this 
philosophy  of  life,  whose  literary  value  has  never  yet  been 
rightly  estimated;  I  mean  Emanuel  Swedenborg.  The  most 
imaginative  of  men,  yet  writing  with  the  precision  of  a  mathe- 
matician, he  endeavored  to  engraft  a  purely  philosophical 
Ethics  on  the  popular  Christianity  of  his  time.  Such  an 
attempt,  of  course,  must  have  difficulty  which  no  genius 
could  surmount.  But  he  saw  and  showed  the  connection 
between  nature  and  the  affections  of  the  soul.  He  pierced 
the  emblematic  or  spiritual  character  of  the  visible,  audible, 
tangible  world.  Especially  did  his  shade-loving  muse  hover 
over  and  interpret  the  lower  parts  of  nature;  he  showed  the 
mysterious  bond  that  allies  moral  evil  to  the  foul  material 


446  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

forms,  and  has  given  in  epical  parables  a  theory  of  insanity,  of 
beasts,  of  unclean  and  fearful  things. 

Another  sign  of  our  times,  also  marked  by  an  analogous 
political  movement,  is  the  new  importance  given  to  the  single 
person.  Everything  that  tends  to  insulate  the  individual  — 
to  surround  him  with  barriers  of  natural  respect,  so  that  each 
man  shall  feel  the  world  is  his  and  man  shall  treat  with  man  as 
a  sovereign  state  with  a  sovereign  state  —  tends  to  true  union 
as  well  as  greatness.  "I  learned,"  said  the  melancholy 
Pestalozzi,  "that  no  man  in  God's  wide  earth  is  either  willing 
or  able  to  help  any  other  man."  Help  must  come  from  the 
bosom  alone.  The  scholar  is  that  man  who  must  take  up 
into  himself  all  the  ability  of  the  time,  all  the  contributions 
of  the  past,  all  the  hopes  of  the  future.  He  must  be  a  uni- 
versity of  knowledges.  If  there  be  one  lesson  more  than 
another  which  should  pierce  his  ear,  it  is,  The  world  is  nothing, 
the  man  is  all;  in  yourself  is  the  law  of  all  nature,  and  you 
know  not  yet  how  a  globule  of  sap  ascends;  in  yourself  slum- 
bers the  whole  of  Reason;  it  is  for  you  to  know  all,  it  is  for 
you  to  dare  all.  Mr.  President  and  Gentlemen,  this  confi- 
dence in  the  unsearched  might  of  man  belongs,  by  all  motives, 
by  all  prophecy,  by  all  preparation,  to  the  American  Scholar. 
We  have  listened  too  long  to  the  courtly  muses  of  Europe. 
The  spirit  of  the  American  freeman  is  already  suspected  to  be 
timid,  imitative,  tame.  Public  and  private  avarice  make 
the  air  we  breathe  thick  and  fat.  The  scholar  is  decent, 
indolent,  complaisant.  See  already  the  tragic  consequence. 
The  mind  of  this  country,  taught  to  aim  at  low  objects,  eats 
upon  itself.  There  is  no  work  for  any  but  the  decorous  and 
the  complaisant.  Young  men  of  the  fairest  promise,  who 
begin  life  upon  our  shores,  inflated  by  the  mountain  winds, 
shined  upon  by  all  the  stars  of  God,  find  the  earth  below  not 
in  unison  with  these,  but  are  hindered  from  action  by  the 
disgust  which  the  principles  on  which  business  is  managed 
inspire,  and  turn  drudges  or  die  of  disgust  —  some  of  them 


THE  AMERICAN  SCHOLAR  447 

suicides.  What  is  the  remedy?  They  did  not  yet  see,  and 
thousands  of  young  men  as  hopeful  now  crowding  to  the 
barriers  for  the  career  do  not  yet  see,  that  if  the  single  man 
plant  himself  indomitably  on  his  instincts,  and  there  abide, 
the  huge  world  will  come  round  to  him.  Patience,  patience; 
with  the  shades  of  all  the  good  and  great  for  company;  and  for 
solace,  the  perspective  of  your  own  infinite  life;  and  for  work, 
the  study  and  the  communication  of  principles,  the  making 
those  instincts  prevalent,  the  conversion  of  the  world.  Is  it 
not  the  chief  disgrace  in  the  world  not  to  be  an  unit,  not  to 
be  reckoned  one  character  —  not  to  yield  that  peculiar  fruit 
which  each  man  was  created  to  bear,  but  to  be  reckoned  in 
the  gross,  in  the  hundred,  or  the  thousand,  of  the  party, 
the  section,  to  which  we  belong;  and  our  opinion  predicted 
geographically,  as  the  north,  or  the  south?  Not  so,  brothers 
and  friends  —  please  God,  ours  shall  not  be  so.  We  will 
walk  on  our  own  feet;  we  will  work  with  our  own  hands; 
we  will  speak  our  own  minds.  The  study  of  letters  shall  be 
no  longer  a  name  for  pity,  for  doubt  and  for  sensual  indulgence. 
The  dread  of  man  and  the  love  of  man  shall  be  a  wall  of 
defence  and  a  wreath  of  joy  around  all.  A  nation  of  men 
will  for  the  first  time  exist,  because  each  believes  himself 
inspired  by  the  Divine  Soul  which  also  inspires  all  men. 


ADVERTISEMENTS 


FRESHMAN  RHETORIC 

By  John  E.othwell  Slater,  Ph.  D. 

Professor  of  Rhetoric  and  English  Literature  in  the  University  of  Rochester 

THIS  is  a  fresh,  vital,  and  stimulating  treatment  of  the 
art  of  effective  composition.  It  deals  with  subjects  and 
forms  of  work  that  are  of  immediate  value  to  those  whose 
tastes  are  not  linguistic  or  literary.  The  chapters  on  note- 
taking,  written  reports  of  public  addresses,  subjects  for  spe- 
cial occasions,  letter-writing,  story  telling,  story  writing,  and 
news  writing  indicate  the  closeness  of  touch  between  the 
discussion  in  the  book  and  the  practical  interests  of  young 
men  just  entering  college.  With  its  700  original  subjects 
for  themes,  essays,  and  written  exercises,  and  the  unconven- 
tional, but  thoroughly  effective,  presentation  of  the  essentials 
of  good  composition,  the  book  is  likely  to  render  great  service 
to  many  who  would  otherwise  remain  indifferent  to  the  claims 
of  good  English. 

Contents 

Chapter  1.  Simple  Exposition  of  Familiar  Subjects 

ii.  Oral  Report  of  a  Printed  Article 

iii.  Note-Taking 

iv.  Written  Report  of  a  Public  Address 

V.  Textbook  Study 

vi.  Recitation 

vii.  The  Use  of  a  Reference  Library 

viii.  The  Structure  of  Detailed  Exposition 

ix.  Speeches  for  Special  Occasions 

X.  Letter-Writing 

xi.  Colloquial  Enghsh 

xii.  Argumentation 

xiii.  Words 

xiv.  Translation 

XV.  The  Interpretation  of  Literature 

xvi.  Description 

xvii.  Story  Telling  and  Story  Writing 

xviii.  Historical  Narration 

xix.  News  Writing 

XX.  Progress  and  Prospect 

Cloth.       V  -\-  358  pages.        Price,  ;$i.io 
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THE  STUDY  OF  A   NOVEL 

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FOUR   YEARS   OF  NOVEL  READING 

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INTRODUCTION  TO  ENGLISH  FICTION 

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Provides  material  for  a  comparative  study  of  English  fiction  in  its 
successive  epochs.  A  brief  historical  outline  is  presented  in  six  chap- 
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STANDARD   EDUCATIONAL  NOVELS 

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Dickens'  A  Tale  of  Two  Cities.  With  introduction  and  notes  by 
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George  Eliot's  Silas  Mamer.  With  introduction  and  notes  by 
George  A.  Wauchope,  Professor  in  the  University  of  South  Carolina. 
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Goldsmith's  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  With  introduction  and  notes  by 
William  Henry  Hudson,  Professor  in  the  University  of  London.  Seven- 
teen full-page  illustrations  by  C.  E.  Brock.     Price,  40  cents. 

Scott's  Invanhoe.  With  introduction,  notes,  and  glossary  by  Por- 
ter L.  MacClintock,  University  of  Chicago.  Seventeen  full-page 
illustrations  by  C.  E.  Brock.     Price,  50  cents. 

Scott's  Quentin  Durward.  With  notes  and  introduction  by  Wil- 
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Stevenson's  Treasure  Island.  With  introduction  and  notes  by 
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A 


HANDBOOK  OF   COMPOSITION 

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MECHANICS   OF  WRITING 

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COMPANION  volume  to  WooUey's  Handbook  of  Composition. 

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of  numbers,  syllabication,  capitalization,  italicizing,  and  is  especially 
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WEBSTER'S  ANCIENT   HISTORY 

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toward  his  subject  make  the  book  one  of  exceptional  excellence. 

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THOMAS'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND 

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salient  facts  and  principles,  and  dramatic  portrayal  of  the  greater 
personages  and  periods.  The  rise  of  the  common  people  from  villein- 
age to  a  share  and  later  control  in  representative  government  is  traced 
with  clearness  and  force.  The  growth  of  Parliament,  the  influence  of 
great  personages,  the  vast  social  and  economic  changes,  and  the  de- 
velopment of  the  British  Empire  are  adequately  set  forth.  In  an 
appendix  to  which  frequent  reference  is  made  is  given  a  brief  account 
of  the  more  important  contemporaneous  events  of  European  history. 
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HISTORY    SYLLABUS 

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is  accompanied  with  full  references  to  text-books  and  authoritative 
treatises,  and  is  given  in  sufficient  detail  to  meet  the  maximum  require- 
ment of  the  most  liberally  equipped  schools. 

Cloth.     375  pages.     $1.35. 

The  Outlines  for  pupils  are  also  bound  separately  in  paper:  Ancient  History,  58  pp., 
20  cents;  Mediceval  and  Modern  European  History,  67  pp.,  20  cents;  English  History, 
40  pp.,  20  cents;    American  History,  72  pp.,  20  cents. 

OTHER  GOOD  BOOKS 

Fling's  Source  Book  of  Greek  History $1.00 

Munro's  Source  Book  of  Roman  History 1.00 

Hall's  Methods  of  Teaching  History 1.50 

Webster's  Readings  in  Ancient  History 1.00 

D.  C.  HEATH  &  CO.,  Boston,  New  York,  Chicago 


Higher  English 


Beowulf  —  A  metrical   translation  by  J.  L.  Hall.     Cloth... 75 

Paper $  .30 

Bowen's  Historical  Study  of  the  0-Vowel 1.25 

Bray's  History  of  English  Critical  Terms 1.00 

A  vocabulary  of  1400  critical  terms  used  in  literature  and  art,  with  critical 
and  historical  data  for  their  study. 

Bronson's  History  of  American  Literature 1.00 

"  No  other  manual  of  American  literature  says  so  much  so  well  in  so  little 
space." 
Coleridge's  Principles  of  Criticism.     From  the  Biographia  Lit- 

eraria 75 

Cook's  The  Bible  and  English  Prose  Style 45 

Corson's  Introduction  to  Browning,  with  33  poems 1.10 

Corson's  Introduction  to  Shakespeare 1.10 

Crawshaw's  The  Making  of  English  Literature 1.30 

An  interpretative  and  historical  guide  for  students. 

Cynewulf 's  Juliana,  with  notes  and  vocabulary 40 

Davidson's  Prolegomena  to  Tennyson's  In  Memoriam 60 

A  critical  analysis  with  an  index  of  the  poem. 
Duncan,  Beck  and  Graves's  Prose  Specimens 1.00 

Selections  illustrating  description,  narration,  exposition,  and  argumentation. 

DeQuincey's  Confessions  of  an  Opium  Eater 50 

Espenshade's  Essentials  of  Composition  and  Rhetoric.     Revised     1.10 

Hooker's  Study  Book  in  English  Literature 1.00 

Covering  the  chief  authors  from  Chaucer  to  the  close  of  the  romantic  period. 

Hudson's  The  Study  of  Literature 1.25 

Judith.     Introduction,  notes,  and  glossary  by  Cook 40 

Kluge  and  Lutz's  English  Etymology 75 

A  select  glossary  for  use  in  the  study  of  historical  grammar. 
MacEwan's  The  Essentials  of  Argumentation 1.25 

A  systematic  discussion  of  principles,  with  illustrative  extracts. 
Meiklejohn's  English  Language:  Grammar,  History,  Literature.      1.25 

A  compendious  course  of  exceptional  worth. 
Moulton's  Short  Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  the  Bible  ....      1.00 
Moulton's  Literary  Study  of  the  Bible 2.00 

An  account  of  the  leading  forms  of  literature  represented. 

O'Conor's  Rhetoric  and  Oratory 1.20 

Payne's  English  in  American  Universities 75 

Simonds's  Sir  Thomas  Wyatt  and  his  Poems 50 

Slater's  Freshman  Rhetoric 1.10 

Smith's  The  Writing  of  the  Short  Story 25 

Webster's  Speeches:  nine  of  the  greatest 80 

Whitcomb's  The  Study  of  a  Novel 1.25 

Analytic  and  synthetic  work  for  college  classes. 
Woolley's  Mechanics  of  Writing 1.00 

Treats  exhaustively  the  paragraph  and  the  rationale  of  punctuation. 

Wordsworth's  Prefaces  and  Essays  on  Poetry CO 

See  also  our  list  of  books  of  Dramatic  Literature,  English 
Poetry,  and  the  Belles- Lettres  Series 

D.  C.  HEATH  &  CO.,  Boston,  New  York,  Chicago 


Dramatic  Literature 

iEJscHTLUS  —  The  Tragedies,  translated  by  E.  H.  Plumptre  $1.00 
Beiaumont  —  The  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle  and  A  King  and 

No  King,  edited  by  Raymond  M.  Alden 60 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher  —  The  Maid's  Tragedy  and  Philaster, 

edited  by  Ashley  H.  Thorndike 60 

Bbowning  —  A  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon,  Colombe's  Birthday,  A 

Soul's  Tragedy,  and  In  a  Balcony,  edited  by  Arlo  Bates  .60 
Chapman  —  All  Fools  and  The  Gentleman  Usher,  edited  by  T.  M. 

Parrott 60 

Bussy  D'Ambois  and  The  Revenge  of  Bussy  D'Ambois, 

edited  by  F.  S.  Boas 60 

Davenant  —  Love  and  Honour  and  The  Siege  of  Rhodes,  edited 

by  J.  W.  Tupper 60 

Dbtden  —  All  for  Love  and  The  Spanish  Friar,  edited  by  W. 

Strunk,  Jr 60 

Fabquhar  —  The  Recruiting  Officer  and  The  Beaux'  Stratagem, 

edited  by  L.  A.  Strauss 60 

Ford  —  'Tis  Pity  and  the  Broken  Heart,  edited  by  S.  P.  Sherman       .60 

Gascoigne  —  Supposes  and  Jocasta,  edited  by  J.  W.  Cunliffe 60 

GoiiDSMiTH  —  The  Good  Natured  Man  and  She  Stoops  to  Conquer, 

edited  by  Austin  Dobson 60 

JoNSON  —  Eastward  Ho  and  The  Alchemist,  edited  by  F.  E.  Schel- 

ling 60 

Sejanus,  edited  by  W.  D.  Briggs 60 

The  Poetaster  and  (Dekker's)  Satiromastix,   edited  by  J. 

H.  Penniman 60 

liiLLO  —  The  London  Merchant  and  Fatal  Curiosity,  edited  by  A. 

W.  Ward 60 

MiDDLETON  AND  RowLET  —  The  Spanish  Gypsy  and  All's  Lost     ' 

by  Lust,  edited  by  E.  C.  Morris 60 

Otwat — 'The  Orphan  and  Venice  Preserved,  edited  by  C.  F. 

McClumpha 60 

Robertson  —  Society  and  Caste,  edited  by  T.  E.  Pemberton. . .  .60 
Shakespeare — 'The  Arden  edition.     General  editor,  C.  H.  Her- 

ford.     Each  play 25 

A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream      Henry  VIII  Richard  III 

As  You  Like  It  Julius  Caesar  Romeo  and  JuUet 

Coriolanus  King  John  The  Merchant  of  Venice 

Cymbeline  King  Lear  The  Tempest 

Hamlet  Macbeth  Twelfth  Night 

Henry  IV  —  Part  I  Much  Ado  About  Nothing       The  Winter's  Tale 

Henry  V  Richard  II 

Introduction  to  Shakespeare,  by  Hiram  Corson 1.10 

Shelley  —  Prometheus  Unbound,  edited  by  Vida  D.  Scudder  .  .       .60 

The  Cenci,  edited  by  George  E.  Woodberry 60 

Sophocles — 'The  Tragedies,  translated  by  E.  H.  Plumptre.  .  .      1.00 

Swinburne  —  Mary  Stuart,  edited  by  W.  M.  Payne 60 

Websteb  —  The  White  Devil  and  The  Duchess  of  Malfi,  edited 

by  M.  W.  Sampson 60 

D.  C.  HEATH  &  CO.,  Boston,  New  York,  Chicago 


English  Poetry 


Arnold,  Matthew  —  Select  Poems,  edited  by  E.  E.  Hale,  Jr.       .60 
Sohrab  and  Rustum  and  The  Forsaken  Merman,  edited  by 

J.  H.  Castlemaa 25 

Browning,  Robert  —  Select  Poems,  edited  by  Richard  Burton. .       .60 

Four  Dramas,  edited  by  Arlo  Bates 60 

Introduction  to  Browning,  by  Hiram  Corson 1.10 

Burns,  Robert  —  Select  Poems,  edited  by  Andrew  J.  George  . .       .80 
Chaucer,  Geoffrey  —  Selections  from  The  Canterbury  Tales, 

etc.,  edited  by  C.  G.  Child 75 

Coleridge,  S.  T. — 'Select   Poems,  edited   by  A.   J.  George..       .60 
The  Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner,  edited  by  A.  J.  George       .30 

Principles  of  Criticism,  edited  by  Andrew  J.  George 75 

Drtden,  John  — •  Palamon  and  Arcite,  edited  by  W.  H.  Crawshaw       .25 
All  for  Love  and  The  Spanish  Friar,  edited  by  William 

Strunk,  Jr 60 

Goldsmith,  Oliver  —  The  Traveller  and  The  Deserted  Village, 

edited  by  Rose  M.  Barton 25 

The  Good  Natured  Man  and  She  Stoops  to  Conquer,  edited 

by  Austin  Dobson 60 

Ltrics  —  Early  Sixteenth  Century  Lyrics,  edited  byF.  M.  Pad- 
elf  ord  60 

Macaulay,  T.  B.  —  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome,  edited  by  Martha  H. 

Shackford 25 

Milton,  John  —  Select  Poems,  edited  by  Albert  Perry  Walker . .       .50 

Minor  Poems,  edited  by  Albert  Perry  Walker 25 

Paradise  Lost,  Books  I  and  II,  with  portions  of  later  books, 

edited  by  Albert  Perry  Walker 45 

Pope,   Alexander  —  Translation  of  the  Iliad,   i,  vi,  xxii,  xxiv, 

edited  by  Paul  Shorey 25 

Scott,  Walter  —  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,  edited  by  L.  D.  Syle  .       .35 
Shelley,  P.  B.  —  Select  Poems,  edited  by  George  E.  Woodberry       .60 

Prometheus  Unbound,  edited  by  Vida  D.  Scudder 60 

The  Cenci,  edited  by  George  E.  Woodberry 60 

A  Defense  of  Poetry  and  Browning's  Essay  on  Shelley  . . .        .60 

Swinburne,  A.  C. — 'Select  Poems,  edited  by  W.  M.  Payne 60 

Mary  Stuart,  edited  by  W.  M.  Payne 60 

Tennyson,  Alfred  — '  Select  Poems,  edited  by  Archibald  Mac- 

Mechan 60 

Enoch  Arden  and  the  two  Locksley  Halls,  edited  by  C.  S. 

Brown 25 

Idylls  of  the  King  (Five  Idylls),  edited  by  Arthur  Beatty  .        .25 

Prolegomena  to  In  Memoriam,  by  Thomas  Davidson 60 

The  Princess,  edited  by  Andrew  J.  George 40 

Wordsworth,  William  —  Select  Poems,  edited  by  A.  J.  George       .80 
Prefaces  and  Essays  on  Poetry,  edited  by  Andrew  J.  George       .60 

The  Prelude,  edited  by  Andrew  J.  George 80 

Wtatt,  Thomas  —  Sir  Thomas  Wyatt  and  his  Poems,  by  W.  E. 

Simonds 50 

Sec  also  our  list  of  Dramatic  Literature. 

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Government  and  Economics 


Boutwell's  The  Constitution  of  the  United  States  at  the  End  of 

the  First  Century $2.50 

Contains  the  organic  laws  of  the  United  States,  with  references  to  the  deci- 
sions of  the  Supreme  Court  from  1789  to  1889,  which  elucidate  the  text,  and 
an  historical  chapter  reviewing  the  steps  which  led  to  the  adoption  of  these 
organic  laws. 

Carlton's  The  History  and  Problems  of  Organized  Labor 2.00 

Presents  the  important  facts  in  the  history  of  organized  labor  in  the  United 
States,  analyzes  the  chief  problems  that  affect  labor  organizations,  and 
attempts  to  evaluate  the  functions  of  organized  labor.  The  object  is  not  to 
justify  or  condemn,  but  to  analyze  phenomena. 

Flickinger's  Civil  Government 1.00 

Traces  the  growth  of  civil  liberty  in  England,  and  the  development  of 
government  in  the  States  and  in  the  United  States.  An  historical  and  ana- 
lytic study  of  civil  institutions. 

Gide's  History  of  Economic  Doctrines 3.00 

The  scope  of  the  work  includes  the  period  from  the  time  of  the  physiocrats 
to  the  present  day.  Especial  prominence  is  given  to  the  development  of 
economic  doctrine  during  the  past  twenty  years. 

Gide's  Political  Economy 3.00 

The  authorized  translation  from  the  third  edition  (1913)  of  the  Cours 
d' Economic  Politique.  The  method  keeps  clearly  in  view  the  human  element, 
which  is  at  once  the  main  difficulty  and  the  main  interest  of  the  subject. 

Gide's  Principles  of  Political  Economy 2.00 

The  authorized  translation  of  Principes  d' Economie  Politique,  adapted  to 
the  use  of  American  students  by  the  addition  of  American  illustrative  mate- 
rial, by  Prof.  C.  W.  A.  Veditz. 

Henderson's  Introduction  to  the  Study  of  Dependent,  Defective, 

and  Delinquent  Classes 1.50 

Adapted  for  use  as  a  text-book,  for  personal  study,  and  for  clubs  of  men 
and  women  engaged  in  considering  some  of  the  gravest  problems  of  society. 

Johnson's  Introduction  to  Political  Economy 1.50 

An  introductory  course  that  deals  in  the  clearest  and  most  direct  manner 
with  the  fundamental  facts  and  principles  on  which  the  study  of  economics  is 
based. 

Lawrence's  Documents  Illustrative  of  International  Law 2.00 

Eighty-seven  important  documents  upon  the  development  of  International 
Law,  the  laws  of  peace,  the  laws  of  war,  and  the  laws  of  neutrality. 

Lawrence's  Principles  of  International  Law 3.00 

Embodies  the  latest  results  of  discussion  and  research,  and  traces  the 
development  of  International  Law  in  such  a  way  as  to  show  its  relation  to  a 
few  great  ethical  principles  as  well  as  its  dependence  upon  the  facts  of  history. 

Wilson's  The  State 2.00 

Elements  of  historical  and  practical  politics,  A  text-book  on  the  organiza- 
tion and  functions  of  government. 

Sent  by  mail,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price 
D.  C.  HEATH  &  CO.,  Publishers,  Boston,  New  York,  Chicago 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


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